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EDITED    BY 

PROFESSOR    ERIC    S.    ROBERTSON,    M.A. 


LIFE   OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


LIFE 


OF 


JANE   AUSTEN. 


BY       ^   A-^  — 

GOLDWIN    SMITH.  \  ,  D 


LONDON 

WALTER    SCOTT,   24,   WARWICK    LANE 


1890 
(AH  rights  reserved.) 


^2-g 


O 


TfL 
6^/  .  X^ 


CONTENTS. 


-♦♦- 


CHAPTER  I. 

Jnne  Austen's  position  in  literary  history ;  born,  December  i6, 
1775,   at  the  Parsonage,  Steventon  ;   the  Austen  family ; 
Steventon   and   its   society    the   basis    of   Jane    Austen's 
works ;  her  early  days   and  literary  tastes  ;  childish  pro- 
ductions; a  precocious   genius;  "Pride   and    Prejudice" 
(1796),  "  Sense  and  Sensibility  "  (1797),  and  "  Northanger 
Abbey"    (1798),    written  at    Steventon;   rejected  by  the 
publishers ;  delight  in  her  work  and  in  her  home  life  pre- 
vents discouragement ;  she  moves  with  her  father  to  P)ath, 
iSoi  ;    her  father   dies,    1805  ;    consequent    removal    to 
Southampton ;    considers  herself   an  old    maid ;    views 
thereon  and  on  dress ;   removal  to  Chawton,  near  Win- 
chester,  1809;  "Emma,"  "  Mansfield  Park,"  and  "  Per- 
suasion "  written  at  Chawton  ;  anonymous  publication  of 
the    novels,    1811-18;    Jane    Austen    and    Madame    de 
Stael  ;    the    novels    appreciated    by    Sir    Walter    Scott, 
and   other   leading  men  ;    also   by  the   Prince   Regent ; 
officiousness  of  the  Prince   Regent's  librarian ;    illness  ; 
removal  to  Winchester  ;  death,  July  18,  1817;  her  view  of 
life ;  the  tone   of  her  letters ;  a  foe  to  sentimentality ;  a 
lover  of  nature  ;   a  mild  Conservative  ;   her  novels  accu- 
rately depict   the  social  life   of  the  time  ;    her  views  on 
wealth  ;  religion  ;    the  clergy ;   her   moral  teaching ;    the 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

novels  not  didactic,  nor  propngandist,  but  very  human  ; 
country  life  as  depicted  in  her  novels  compared  with  that 
of  to-day  ;  the  novels  of  necessity  unromantic  ;  their  cha- 
racters taken  from  a  limited  class — the  gentry  ;  her  work 
narrow  in  compass,  but  perfect  in  detail   .         .        .         .11 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Pride  and  Prejudice "  perhaps  the  best  of  Jane  Austen's 
novels  ;  the  Bennet  and  Darcy  families ;  the  plot  of  the 
novel ;  discussion  of  characters ;  Darcy's  pride  and  self- 
love  somewhat  overdone  ;  the  solemn  priggishness  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Collins— his  proposal  to  Elizabeth,  his  letter  of 
condolence  to  Mr.  Bennet ;  Mr.  Bennet's  dry  humour  and 
Mrs.  Bennet's  vulgarity ;  aristocratic  insolence  of  Lady 
Catherine  de  Bourgh  ;  Charlotte  Lucas's  practical  view  of 
matrimony  as  a  provision  for  young  women 


66 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Sense  and  Sensibility"  constructed  on  somewhat  similar  lines 
to  "Pride  and  Prejudice,"  but  inferior  to  it;  the  chief 
characters— their  counterparts  in  "  Pride  and  Prejudice  ;  " 
epitome  of  the  plot ;  Willoughby's  rehabilitation  rather 
a  strange  incident  ;  the  minor  characters ;  the  good- 
natured  vulgarity  of  Mi's.  Jennings  ;  Sir  John  Middleton 
half  way  between  the  old  country  squire  and  the  modern 
country  gentleman ;  the  cold-hearted  selfishness  of  Lady 
Middleton  and  Mrs.  John  Dashwood  ;  the  Misses  Steele, 
vulgar  both  in  manners  and  in  soul  ;  Mrs.  John  Da'^hwood 
on  annuities  ;  the  pleasantries  of  spoilt  children         .         .     89 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Northanger  Abbey  "—a  comic  travesty  of  the  "  Mysteries  of 
Udolplio  "  of  Mrs.  Radcliffc  ;  Catherine  Morland's  original 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGR 

disqualifications  for  a  heroine  of  romance ;  she  gradually 
qualifies  ;  goes  to  Bath  ;  meets  there  the  Thorpes  and  the 
Tilneys  ;  a  description  of  them  ;  General  Tilney ;  wrongly 
understanding  Catherine  to  be  an  heiress,  he  invites  her  to 
Northanger  Abbey  ;  Heniy  Tilney  prepares  her  for 
romantic  horrors  ;  the  first  night  at  the  Abbey ;  other 
adventures  ;  General  Tilney  bent  on  a  match  between 
Catherine  and  Henry ;  finding  she  is  not  an  heiress,  he 
suddenly  orders  Catherine  home  ;  but  all  ends  happily      .   I02 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Emma";  a  description  of  her;  the  relations  between  the 
principal  characters  ;  characteristics  of  Emma  Woodhouse 
and  Mr.  Knightley ;  the  plot  of  the  novel ;  Lord  Bra- 
bourne's  unfavourable  view  of  Mr.  Knightley  ;  "  Emma" 
rich  in  character  ;  Mr.  Woodhouse's  benevolent  valetudi- 
narianism a  little  overdrawn  ;  Mr.  Elton,  the  clerical 
Adonis,  and  his  vulgar,  conceited  wife  ;  Miss  Bates,  the 
worthy  old  maid Il8 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mansfield  Park  ;"  it  teems  with  delicate  touches  of  character 
and  fine  strokes  of  art ;  an  account  of  the  plot  and  of  the 
principal  characters  ;  the  subordinate  characters  ;  the  mean 
and  despicable  Mrs.  Norris  ;  the  indolence  and  apathy  of 
Lady  Bertram  somewhat  exaggerated  ;  her  passive  fault- 
lessness  ;  the  unmethodical  and  slatternly  Mrs.  Price  well 
drawn  ;  realistic  description  of  the  Price  household ; 
Admiral  Crawford  and  Lieutenant  Price  ;  the  comic  and 
bad  characters  of  the  novels  generic,  but  some  of  the 
better  ones  very  likely  portraits  ;  William  Price  probably 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

represents  one  of  Jane  Austen's  sailor  brothers  ;  a  tribute 

to  the  navy 140 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Persuasion  " — ^Jane  Austen's  last  work  ;  its  autumnal  mellow- 
ness of  tone  and  sentiment ;  not  so  well  constructed  as  her 
other  novels,  but  contains  some  of  her  finest  touches ; 
Anne  Elliot  perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  Jane  Austen's 
women ;  the  plot  and  principal  characters  discussed ; 
minor  characters  ;  the  family  pride  and  self-conceit  of  Sir 
W.  Elliot  slightly  overdone ;  Elizabeth  Elliott's  selfish- 
ness ;  Mary  Elliot's  querulous  and  hypocritical  self-love — 
her  letter  to  Anne ;  Admiral  Croft,  a  sketch  from  life ; 
weakness  in  construction  of  the  plot ;  several  more  or  less 
aimless  characters 167 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Fragments  :  '*  Lady  Susan,"  probably  an  exercise  never  in- 
tended for  publication  ;  its  plot ;  composed  in  the  form  of 
a  series  of  letters  ;  defects  of  that  style  of  composition ; 
"  The  Watsons  ;  "  the  circumstances  in  which  it  was  begun 
and  left  unfinished  ;  only  one  or  two  of  its  characters 
faintly  reproduced  in  other  novels 181 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Jane  Austen's  novels  regarded  as  a  whole  :  no  hidden  meanings 
or  philosophy  in  them ;  she  only  made  the  familiar  and 
commonplace  interesting  and  amusing;  their  style  the  same 
throughout;  the  plots  generally  well -sustained,  though 
unsensational ;  the  heroines  more  interesting  and  better 
drawn  than  the  heroes,  but  the  secondary  characters  the 
best ;  Jane  Austen's  narrow  range  of  observation  caused 
partial  recurrences  of  characters  and  incidents,  but  Lord 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE 

Mrxaulay  claims  that  each  character  is  distinct  ;  though 
her  subjects  were  commonplace  and  tri\nal,  her  genius  has 
made  them  bright  for  ever         ......   185 


NOTE. 

Jane  Austen's  chronological  relation  to  the  other  English  nove- 
lists   19: 


INDEX 193 


LIFE   OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MISS  AUSTEN  stands  in  literary  history  as  one  of 
a  group  of  female  novelists  of  manners,  of  which 
the  other  most  prominent  figures  are  Miss  Burney,  Miss 
Edgeworth,  and  Miss  Ferrier,  while  the  whole  group 
stands  in  contrast  to  the  contemporary  novelists  of 
romance,  such  as  the  once  famous  Mrs.  Radcliffe.^  Of 
the  novelists  of  manners  the  common  parent,  to  a  certain 
extent,  was  Richardson,  while  the  novelists  of  romance 
had  a  precursor  in  the  author  of  "The  Castle  of 
Otranto."  But  it  is  not  in  Miss  Austen's  relations  to 
other  writers  or  schools  of  writers  that  her  importance 
consists.  On  her  was  bestowed,  though  in  a  humble 
form,  the  gift  which  had  been  bestowed  on  Homer, 
Shakespeare,  Cervantes,  Scott,  and  a  few  others — the 
gift  of  creative  power. 

Short  and  simple  are  the  annals  of  her  life.     Till  near 
its  close  her  genius  was  not  recognized  outside  the  circle 

'    Jane   Austen's    chronological    relation   to   the   other   English 
novelists  will  be  seen  from  the  table  at  the  end  of  the  volume  (p.  192). 


12  LIFE  OF 

of  her  own  family,  nor  was  it  fully  recognized  till  after 
her  death.  She  had  no  literary  acquaintance,  and  but  a 
small  acquaintance  of  any  kind.  Of  her  doings  and 
sayings  nobody  took  notes.  Twenty  years  ago  it  was 
remarked  in  presence  of  one  of  her  family  that  almost 
as  little  was  known  about  her  as  about  Shakespeare. 
Not  long  afterwards  there  appeared  a  memoir  of  her  by 
her  nephew,  Mr.  Austen-Leigh.  It  tells  us  her  ap- 
pearance, her  general  character  and  habits,  but  it  tells 
us  little  more.  There  was  probably  little  more  to  tell. 
The  works  are  the  only  biography.  Perhaps  there  might 
be  some  disappointment  even  in  the  case  of  Shake- 
speare if  pious  inquiry  could  succeed  in  rescuing 
details  from  the  night  in  which  they  have  been  lost. 
Since  the  publication  of  the  memoir,  a  collection  of  Jane 
Austen's  letters  has  been  given  to  the  world  by  her 
grandnephew,  Lord  Brabourne.  The  genial  industry  of 
the  editor  has  done  all  that  could  be  done,  but  the  letters, 
in  a  biographical  point  of  view,  are  disappointing.  These, 
however,  with  Lord  Brabourne's  introductions,  are  our 
only  source  of  information  beyond  Mr.  Austen-Leigh's 
Memoir,  which  forms  the  staple  of  this  as  of  the  other 
biographies. 

Jane  Austen  was  born  on  December  i6,  1775 — the 
year  of  the  American  Revolution — at  the  Parsonage 
House  of  Steventon,  in  Hampshire,  of  which  parish,  and 
of  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Deane,  her  father,  George 
Austen,  was  the  rector.  George  Austen  had  been  a  fellow 
of  St.  John's  College,  Oxford.  Lie  was  a  good  scholar, 
so  that  he  was  able  to  prepare  two  of  his  sons  for  the 


JANE  A  USTEN.  13 

University,  and  was  noted  for  his  good  looks,  having  been 
called  "the  handsome  Proctor."  His  wife  and  Jane 
Austen's  mother  was  Cassandra,  the  youngest  daughter 
of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Leigh,  who,  after  being  a  fellow 
of  All  Souls',  held  the  College  living  of  Hampden,  near 
Henley-on-Thames, — and  niece  of  Dr.  Theophilus  Leigh, 
for  more  than  half-a-century  Master  of  Balliol  College, 
and  the  great  University  wit  of  his  day. 

Jane  had  five  brothers  and  one  sister.  Her  eldest 
brother,  James,  was  well  read  in  English  literature,  was 
a  writer  in  a  modest  way,  and  is  believed  to  have  had  a 
large  share  in  directing  her  reading  and  forming  her 
taste.  Her  second  brother,  Edward,  like  Frank  Churchill 
in  "Emma,"  had  been  adopted  by  a  wealthy  rela- 
tive, Mr,  Knight,  of  Godmersham  Park  in  Kent,  and 
Chawton  House  in  Hampshire,  and  on  coming  into 
possession  of  the  property  changed  his  name  to  Knight. 
Though  he  was  separated  from  his  sister  in  childhood,  in 
later  life  they  were  drawn  together,  and  a  large  share  of 
her  affections  was  given  to  him  and  to  his  children.  He 
is  described  as  very  amiable  and  full  of  fun.  The  third 
brother,  Henry,  is  said  to  have  had  great  conversational 
powers,  but  not  to  have  got  on  very  well  in  life.  He 
became  a  clergyman  when  middle-aged,  and  helped  Jane 
in  negotiations  with  the  publishers.  The  two  youngest 
brothers,  Francis  and  Charles,  were  sailors,  and  served  in 
the  Great  War.  Both  rose  to  the  rank  of  Admiral ;  both 
seem  to  have  deserved  it;  and  both  left  a  record  of 
kindly  and  gentle  character  as  well  as  of  high  pro- 
fessional spirit.  The  details  of  their  profession,  their 
prize-money,  and  their  promotions,  as  well  as  the  joy  with 


14  LIFE  OF 

Avhich  they  were  welcomed  home,  have  left  plain  traces 
on  their  sister's  pages.  But  dearest  of  all,  we  are  told, 
to  the  heart  of  Jane  was  her  sister  Cassandra,  about 
three  years  her  senior.  They  were  always  together, 
lived  in  the  same  home  and  shared  the  same  bed- 
room till  they  were  separated  by  death.  Cassandra's 
was  the  calmer  disposition,  with  less  sunniness. 
Cassandra,  it  used  to  be  said  in  the  family,  had 
the  merit  of  having  her  temper  always  under  com- 
mand; but  Jane  had  the  happiness  of  possessing  a 
temper  that  never  required  to  be  commanded.  When 
*'  Sense  and  Sensibility  "  came  out,  the  two  sisters  were 
identified  with  Elinor  and  Marianne ;  but  Jane  could 
never  have  painted  herself  as  the  foolishly  emotional 
and  impulsive  Marianne ;  if  she  had,  she  would  certainly 
have  done  herself  great  injustice.  Mr.  Austen-Leigh 
remarks  that  the  young  woman  who  before  the  age  of 
twenty  could  so  clearly  discern  the  failings  of  Marianne 
Dashwood,  can  hardly  have  been  subject  to  them  herself. 
Sisterly  love  had  probably  a  share  in  suggesting  the 
loving  pair  of  sisters  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  as  well 
as  the  loving  pair  of  sisters  in  "Pride  and  Prejudice," 
and  the  want  of  a  sister  in  "  Emma." 

Twenty- five  years,  more  than  half  Jane  Austen's  life, 
were  spent  in  Steventon  Parsonage.  Steventon  is  a 
small  village  upon  the  chalk  hills  of  North  Hants,  in 
a  winding  valley,  seven  miles  from  Basingstoke.  There 
is  always  a  cheerfulness  about  the  chalk  country,  and 
Steventon  is  described  as  pretty  on  a  small  scale  and 
in  a  very  quiet  way,  without  large  timber,  but  with 
broad  and  leafy  hedgerows,   beneath   which   grew   the 


JANE  AUSTEN.  15 

primrose,  the  anemone,  and  the  wild  hyacinth.  The 
hedgerows  were  not  mere  fences,  but  were  of  the  ampH- 
tude  usual  in  the  days  of  unimproved  husbandry,  with 
a  rough  path  down  the  middle :  in  *'  Persuasion "  the 
conversation  of  a  pair  walking  along  one  of  them  is 
overheard  by  an  anxious  listener  on  the  outside.  The 
parsonage,  since  pulled  down,  "  stood  in  a  shallow  valley, 
surrounded  by  sloping  meadows  well  sprinkled  with  elm 
trees,  at  the  end  of  a  small  village  of  cottages,  each  well 
provided  with  a  garden,  scattered  about  prettily  on 
either  side  of  the  road."  On  the  south  side  was  an  old- 
fashioned  garden,  and  along  the  garden  ran  a  terrace  of 
turf  which  Mr.  Austen-Leigh  says  may  have  been  in 
his  aunt's  thoughts  when  she  described  Catherine 
norland's  childish  delight  in  rolling  down  the  green 
slope  at  the  back  of  the  house.  Not  far  off  was  a  manor- 
house  of  the  time  of  Henry  VIIL,  which,  however, 
does  not  seem  to  have  turned  Jane's  thoughts  to  the 
romantic  past. 

In  and  around  Steventon,  and  in  the  little  town  of 
Basingstoke,  which  probably  is  the  original  of  Meryton, 
Jane  would  see  the  classes  of  people  and  the  life  which 
a  village  and  a  litde  country  town  in  England  presents. 
She  would  see  the  large  landed  •  proprietor  and  member 
of  Parliament,  like  Sir  Thomas  Bertram,  the  small 
proprietor,  like  Mr.  Bennet  and  Mr.  Woodhouse,  and 
the  clergyman,  with  their  wives  and  daughters,  occa- 
sionally the  military  or  naval  officer  of  good  family,  the 
old  lady  not  of  good  family,  or  retired  tradesman,  living 
in  the  little  town,  the  village  apothecary,  the  independent 
yeoman,  like   Robert   Martin,  common  in  those   days 


16  LIFE  OF 

though  now  almost  extinct  These  are  the  materials  of 
her  novels.  If  the  range  of  her  characters  was  limited, 
she  would  have  good  opportunities  of  studying  them, 
for  English  life,  which  has  now  become  migratory  and 
restless,  in  days  before  railways  was  quiet  and  stationary. 
In  one  of  her  letters,  Jane  says  to  a  neophyte  in  novel- 
making,  "  You  are  now  collecting  your  people  delight- 
fully, getting  them  exactly  into  such  a  spot  as  is  the 
delight  of  my  life.  Three  or  four  families  in  a  country 
village  is  the  very  thing  to  work  on  ;  and  I  hope  you 
will  write  a  great  deal  more  and  make  very  full  use  of 
them  when  they  are  so  favourably  arranged."  The 
Austen  family  were  not  rich,  but  they  were  sufficiently 
well  off  to  go  into  the  society  of  the  neighbourhood  and 
keep  a  carriage.  Their  social  position  was  much  the 
same  as  that  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Grant  in  "  Mansfield  Park," 
who  keep  their  carriage  and  entertain,  spreading  their 
table  with  a  liberality  which  seems  excessive  to  the 
jealous  Mrs.  Norris. 

The  Austen  circle  was  enlarged  in  every  sense  by 
intimacy  with  two  cousins,  Edward  and  Jane  Cooper, 
the  children  of  Mrs.  Austen's  eldest  sister  and  Dr. 
Cooper,  the  vicar  of  Sonning,  near  Reading,  and  about 
eighteen  miles  from  Basingstoke.  Edward  Cooper  had 
won  the  prize  for  a  Latin  poem  at  Oxford,  and  afterwards 
wrote  a  work  on  prophecy,  called  "The  Crisis,"  and 
several  volumes  of  sermons,  which  at  one  time  were  in 
vogue.  He  no  doubt  read  with  pleasure  the  passage  in 
"  Mansfield  Park  "  extolling  the  gifts  of  preaching.  The 
Coopers  lived  for  some  time  in  Bath,  where,  it  appears, 
Jane   Austen   visited    them    and    acquired   the    know- 


JANE  AUSTEN.  17 

ledge  of  the  great  watering-place  which  enabled  her 
to  write  "  Northanger  Abbey."  She  also  visited  her 
kinsman,  Mr.  Knight,  at  Godmersham  Park,  and  per- 
haps it  was  there,  more  than  at  Steventon,  that  she 
studied  the  life  of  the  county  magnate,  the  Sir  Thomas 
Bertram  of  "  Mansfield  Park." 

It  seems  that  the  family  circle  in  Steventon  Parsonage 
was  entirely  united  and  happy,  so  that  the  home  influ- 
ences under  which  the  girl  grew  up,  combined  with  the 
natural  sweetness  of  disposition  of  which  her  kinsman 
retains  a  vivid  recollection,  gave  her  a  genial  view  of 
life,  and  inclined  her  to  play  gently  with  the  foibles 
of  humanity.  Jane  loved  company  and  all  the  simple 
pleasures  of  life,  flirting  in  a  quiet  way  not  excepted. 
"  There  were  twenty  dances,"  she  says,  when  she  had 
been  at  a  ball,  "and  I  danced  them  all  without  any 
fatigue ;  "  and  this  was  when  she  was  so  far  past  the 
heyday  of  youth  as  to  wear  a  cap.  She  does  not 
conceal  her  enjoyment  of  good  cheer.  She  had  a 
sweet  voice,  sang  simple  airs,  and  played  on  the  piano. 
There  is  not  a  greater  contrast  between  the  bleak 
Westmoreland  moor  and  the  soft  beauty  of  the  Hamp- 
shire valley,  than  there  was  between  the  youth  of  the 
authoress  of  "  Jane  Eyre  "  and  the  youth  of  Jane  Austen. 

Nor  was  Jane  Austen  without  a  share  of  the  happiness 
which  goes  with  good  looks.  Her  figure  was  tall  and 
slender,  her  step  was  light  and  firm,  and  her  whole 
appearance,  we  are  told,  was  expressive  of  health  and 
animation.  In  complexion  she  was  a  clear  brunette 
with  a  rich  colour;  she  had  full,  round  cheeks,  with 
mouth  and  nose  small  and  well  formed,   bright  hazel 

2 


18  LIFE  OF 

eyes,  and  brown  hair  forming  natural  curls  close  round 
her  face.  Such  is  the  portrait  drawn  of  her  by  her 
affectionate  kinsman.  To  a  less  partial  observer  the 
cheeks  appeared  rather  too  round  and  full. 

It  has  seemed  curious  that  no  attachment  should  have 
been  formed  by  a  good-looking  girl,  fond  of  society 
and  balls,  and  not  averse  from  flirting.  Mr.  Austen- 
Leigh  says  in  his  first  edition  that  he  has  no  tale  of  love 
to  relate.  In  his  second  edition  he  has  introduced  a 
double  qualification  of  this  statement.  He  tells  us  that 
his  aunt  in  youth  declined  the  addresses  of  a  man  who 
had  the  recommendations  of  good  character,  connec- 
tions, and  position,  of  everything  but  the  power  of  touch- 
ing her  heart.  But  he  also  says  that  there  is  one  passage 
of  romance  in  her  history  with  which  he  is  imperfectly 
acquainted,  but  which  he  has  on  the  authority  of  her 
sister  Cassandra,  who  deposed  that  at  some  seaside  place 
they  became  acquainted  with  a  gentleman  whose  charm 
of  person,  mind,  and  manners  was  such  that  Cassandra 
thought  him  worthy  to  possess  and  likely  to  win  her 
sister's  love.  When  they  parted,  he  expressed  his  inten- 
tion of  soon  seeing  them  again,  and  Cassandra  felt  no 
doubt  as  to  his  motives.  But  they  never  again  met, 
and  within  a  short  time  he  suddenly  died.  A  Quarterly 
Reviewer  has  observed,  concerning  the  attachment  of 
Fanny  Price  in  "  Mansfield  Park  "  to  Edmund  Bertram  : 
"  The  silence  in  which  this  passion  is  cherished,  the 
slender  hopes  and  enjoyments  by  which  it  is  fed,  the 
restlessness  and  jealousy  with  which  it  fills  a  mind 
naturally  active,  contented,  and  unsuspicious,  the  manner 
in  which  it  tinges  every  event  and  every  reflection,  are 


JANE  AUSTEN.  19 

painted  with  a  vividness  and  a  minuteness  of  which 
we  can  scarcely  conceive  any  one  but  a  female,  and 
we  should  almost  add  a  female  writing  from  recollection, 
capable."  Mr.  Austen-Leigh,  however,  is  of  opinion 
that  this  conjecture,  however  probable,  is  wide  of  the 
mark,  and  that  Fanny's  love  of  Edmund  was  drawn  from 
the  intuitive  perceptions  of  genius,  not  from  personal 
experience.  He  has  no  reason,  he  says,  to  think  that 
his  aunt  ever  felt  any  attachment  by  which  the  happi- 
ness of  her  life  was  at  all  affected.  There  is  little  use 
in  bandying  conjectures  when  we  have  no  evidence  of 
facts.  Yet  it  may  be  remarked  in  reply  to  Mr.  Austen- 
Leigh,  that  if  Jane  Austen  had  felt  such  an  attachment, 
and  supposing  the  attachment  to  be  unrequited  or  baffled 
by  adverse  circumstances,  she  would  not  have  betrayed 
it.  Complete  command  over  her  feelings  in  such  a 
case  is  a  characteristic  which  she  holds  up  to  admiration 
in  two  of  her  models  of  womanhood,  Fanny  Price  and 
Elinor  Dashwood.  It  is  not  in  '*  Mansfield  Park  "  that,  if 
we  were  inclined  to  follow  up  this  chase  of  an  imaginary 
love  affair,  we  should  look  for  the  trail.  It  is  rather  in 
the  passage  in  "  Persuasion  "  concerning  the  lingering 
attachment  of  Anne  Elliot  to  Captain  Wentworth,  after 
the  breaking  off  of  their  engagement. 

"  More  than  seven  years  were  gone  since  this  little  history  of 
sorrowful  interest  had  reached  its  close ;  and  time  had  softened 
down  much,  perhaps  nearly  all  of  peculiar  attachment  to  him,  but 
she  had  been  too  dependent  on  time  alone  ;  no  aid  had  been  given 
in  change  of  place  (except  in  one  visit  to  Bath  soon  after  the 
rupture),  or  in  any  novelty  or  enlargement  of  society.  No  one  had 
ever  come  within  the  Kellynch  circle  who  could  bear  a  comparison 
with  Frederick  Wentworth,  as  he  stood  in  her  memory.     No  second 


20  LIFE  OF 

attachment,  the  only  thoroughly  natural,  happy,  and  sufficient  cure, 
at  her  time  of  life,  had  been  possil:)le  to  the  nice  tone  of  her  mind, 
the  fastidiousness  of  her  taste,  in  the  small  limits  of  the  society 
around  them. 

******* 

"  How  eloquent  could  Anne  Elliot  have  been  !  how  eloquent,  at 
least,  were  her  wishes  on  the  side  of  early  warm  attachment,  and 
a  cheerful  confidence  in  futurity,  against  that  over-anxious  caution 
which  seems  to  insult  exertion  and  distrust  Providence  I  She  bad 
been  forced  into  prudence  in  her  youth,  she  learned  romance  as 
she  grew  older  :  the  natural  sequel  of  an  unnatural  beginning." 

Captain  Wcntworth  is  a  sailor.  Jane  had  two  brothers 
in  the  navy,  and  she  could  hardly  fail  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  some  of  their  brother  officers.  However, 
she  is  almost  as  impersonal  as  Shakespeare,  and  any 
attempt  to  extract  her  own  history  from  her  novels  must 
be  precarious  in  the  highest  degree.  Cassandra  was 
engaged  to  a  young  clergyman,  who,  before  their 
marriage-day  came,  died  in  the  West  Indies.  This  may 
have  furnished  the  cue  for  the  passage  in  "  Persuasion," 
if  that  passage  had  any  relation  to  facts.  There  was 
certainly  nothing  serious  in  the  case  of  Tom  Lefroy,  of 
whom  Jane  writes,  "  At  length  the  day  is  come  on  which 
I  am  to  flirt  my  last  with  Tom  Lefroy,  and  when  you 
receive  this  it  will  be  over.  My  tears  flow  as  I  write  at 
the  melancholy  idea." 

An  acute  female  critic  has  surmised  that  so  observant 
a  young  lady  with  so  sharp  a  pen  must  have  been  ratlicr  an 
object  of  dread  than  of  affection  to  the  people  about  her. 
Of  the  sharp  pen  the  people  of  Stcventon  could  not  be  in 
dread,  inasmuch  as  it  was  not  till  many  years  after  that 
any  of  its  works  were  given  to  the  world,  and  none  but 


JANE  AUSTEN.  21 

Jane's  own  family  at  this  time  knew  that  she  was  an 
authoress.  The  gift  of  social  satire  is  perhaps  one  not 
easily  concealed,  but  we  are  assured  that  Jane  was  on  a 
friendly  footing  with  all  around  her  and  interested  in 
their  concerns,  as  she  certainly  was  dearly  loved,  and 
deserved  to  be  dearly  loved,  by  her  own  family.  Though 
satirical,  she  was  not  in  the  least  cynical  or  malicious. 
Shakespeare  must  liave  been  always  taking  notes,  yet  he 
was  "  Sweet  Will  "  to  the  set  in  which  he  lived. 

If  the  range  of  Jane's  social  experience  was  limited, 
so,  apparently,  was  her  literary  culture.  She  was  no 
doubt  well  read  in  English  classics,  especially  in  the  line 
of  fiction.  Richardson,  her  nephew  tells  us,  she  knew 
thoroughly  and  greatly  admired  :  she  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  being  seduced  into  imitation  of  him.  Cowper 
she  loved  both  in  verse  and  prose.  A  man  who  cannot 
be  animated  by  Cowper,  she  makes  one  of  her  characters 
say,  cannot  be  animated  at  all.  Crabbe  she  loved 
apparently  still  more,  for  she  used  to  say  that  if  ever  she 
married  at  all  she  could  fancy  being  Mrs.  Crabbe.  She 
was  taken  no  doubt  by  the  intense  reality  of  his  pictures^ 
as  well  as  by  their  minute  and  highly-finished  detail. 
Once  or  twice  she  seems  to  have  reproduced  his  thoughts. 
The  following,  for  instance,  reminds  us  of  "The  Lover's 
Ride :  "  "  Emma's  spirits  were  mounted  up  quite  to  happi- 
ness; everything  wore  a  different  air ;  James  and  his  horses 
seemed  not  half  so  sluggish  as  before.  When  she  looked 
at  the  hedges  she  thought  that  the  elder  at  least  must 
soon  be  coming  out ;  and  when  she  turned  to  Harriet 
she  saw  something  like  a  look  of  spring,  a  tender  smile 
even  there  " 


22  LIFE  OF 

To   Johnson,  whose  strong   sense  must  have    been 

congenial  to    her,   Jane    paid   homage    without   being 

influenced  by  his  style.     Of  the  Spectator  she  speaks  with 

little  regard,  calling  it  "  a  voluminous  publication,  hardly 

any  part  of  which  would   not,   either  by  its  matter  or 

manner,  disgust  a  young  person  of  taste,"  and  designating 

its  language  as  "  so  coarse  as  to  give  no  very  favourable 

idea  of  the  age  that  could  endure  it."     The  last  remark 

brings  home  to  us  the  improvement  that  had  taken  place 

in  the  tone  of  society  since  the  days  when  the  Spectator 

was  the  height  of  refinement  and  a  great  organ  of  social 

reform.     She  read  Scott  and  Byron,  and  she  speaks  of 

the  question  between  the  two  as  the  burning  literary  issue 

of  the  day,  without  intimating  her  own  opinion.    From  a 

passage  in  "Persuasion,"  it  appears  that  Byron's  passion 

had  touched  her.     In  one  of  her  letters  she  says  that 

she  has  begun  "  Marmion,"  and  is  disappointed  by  it ; 

but  she  is  constrained  to  recognize   the   excellence  of 

"Waverley,"  though  she  playfully  complains  of  its  writer 

for  not  being  content  with  his  own  realm  of  poetry,  but 

encroaching  on  the  realm  of  fiction  and  taking  the  bread 

out  of  a  novelist's   mouth.     Her  contemporary  female 

novelists  of  course  she  read,  and  she  stands  up  for  the 

authoress   of    "  Camilla."      She   defends   the   study   of 

history  against  those  who  called  it  dry  and  dull.     Henry 

appears  to  have  been  the  writer  whom  she  studied  for 

the  history  of  her  own  country.     She  read  French,  but 

of  her  French  reading  there  is  barely  a  trace.     Voltaire 

and  Rousseau  were  not  likely  to  find  their  way  to  the 

book-shelves   of  an  English  parsonage.     At   all  events 

there  is  not  a  vestige  either  in  Jane  Austen's  novels  or  in 


JANE  AUSTEN.  23 

her  letters  of  the  influence  of  either.  Nor  is  there  a 
vestige  of  any  of  the  writers,  revolutionary  or  anti-revolu- 
tionary, who  dealt  with  the  great  intellectual  movements 
of  the  age.  In  her  pubhshed  letters,  the  allusions  to 
any  literary  subject  are  surprisingly  few  and  slight.  One 
book  which  she  mentions  as  greatly  interesting  her, 
strange  to  say,  is  an  essay  on  the  "  Military  Police  and 
Institutions  of  the  British  Empire,"  by  Capt.  Pasley,  of 
the  Engineers.  It  has  been  already  said  that  she  had  no 
literary  friends.  There  was  nothing  to  stimulate,  nothing 
to  sophisticate  or  spoil  her.  No  primrose  or  wild 
hyacinth  on  the  banks  of  Steventon  ever  unfolded  more 
freely,  or  drew  its  life  more  entirely  from  its  native  sod. 

A  passage  in  "  Mansfield  Park  "  about  the  wonders  of 
memory,  and  another  about  the  contrast  between  ever- 
greens and  other  trees  as  an  instance  of  the  marvels 
of  nature,  show  that  the  mind  of  Jane  Austen  was 
sometimes  turned  to  the  mysteries  of  being ;  but  of 
philosophic  or  scientific  study  not  a  trace  appears.  She 
widely  differed  in  this,  as  in  other  respects,  from  George 
Ehot. 

The  circle  of  the  Parsonage  was  literary  in  an  unpre- . 
tending  way.  It  sometimes  indulged  in  private  theatri- 
cals, like  the  party  in  "  Mansfield  Park,"  the  barn  forming 
the  usual  theatre.  The  principal  part  in  these  perform- 
ances was  taken  by  a  cousin,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Austen's 
only  sister,  who  had  married  a  French  Count,  and,  when 
he  had  perished  by  the  guillotine,  was  taken  into  her 
uncle's  family  and  ultimately  married  Henry  Austen.  It 
was  from  this  lady,  it  seems,  that  Jane  got  her  knowledge 
of  French.    That  her  attention  was  at  all  turned  to  France, 


24  LIFE  OP 

or  that  her  interest  was  excited  in  the  tremendous  drama 
which  was  going  on  there,  does  not  appear.  Reading 
aloud  seems  also  to  have  been  a  favourite  diversion  :  at 
least  Jane  Austen  makes  a  great  point  of  perfection  in  it, 
and  in  "  Mansiield  Park  "  Henry  Crawford  is  represented 
as  almost  producing  an  impression  on  the  obdurate  heart 
of  Fanny  by  his  admirable  rendering  of  Shakespeare. 

Jane  had  from  her  childhood  a  taste  for  writing  tales, 
and  her  nephew  tells  us  that  there  is  e-xtant  an  old 
copybook  containing  some  which  seem  to  have  been 
composed  when  she  was  quite  a  girl.  She  afterwards 
advised  a  niece  who  had  literary  aspirations  not  to 
write  any  more  till  she  had  turned  sixteen,  remarking 
that  it  would  have  been  better  for  herself  if  she 
had  read  more  and  written  less  before  reaching  that 
mature  age.  Between  these  childish  productions  and 
the  earliest  of  the  published  works  intervened,  it  seems, 
some  burlesques  which,  ridiculing  the  improbable  acci- 
dents and  extravagant  sentiments  of  the  silly  romances  of 
the  day,  were  precursors  of  "  Northanger  Abbey."  But 
it  is  also  evident  that,  besides  her  taste  for  constructing 
stories  and  composition,  Jane  at  a  surprisingly  early  age  had 
formed  a  taste  for  studying  characters,  especially  "  intri- 
cate "  characters,  as  she  calls  them,  and  at  the  same  time 
a  habit  of  taking  up  the  position  of  an  observant  spec- 
tator of  her  little  social  world.  In  this  respect  the  three 
earliest  of  her  published  works  are  the  greatest  marvels  of 
literary  history.  "  Pride  and  Prejudice,"  which  has  been 
generally  thought  her  masterpiece,  was  begun  in  October, 
1796,  before  she  was  twenty-one  years  old,  and  completed 
in  about  ten  months  from  that  date      "  Sense  and  Sensi- 


JANE  A  USTEN.  25 

bility  "  was  begun  in  its  present  form  immediately  after- 
wards, in  November,  1797  ;  tliough  if  the  material  of  a 
tale  previously  composed  under  the  title  of  "  Elinor 
and  Marianne  "  was  worked  up  into  it,  as  is  probable,  it 
may  be  considered  to  that  extent  an  earlier  produc- 
tion than  "  Pride  and  Prejudice."  "  Northanger  Abbey," 
though  not  prepared  for  the  press  till  1803,  was  first 
composed,  as  Mr.  Austen-Leigh  assures  us,  in  1798. 
The  first  two  works  lay  for  some  time  on  the  writer's 
hands,  and  may  possibly  have  been  revised,  though  there 
is  no  reason  for  suspecting  it ;  but  "  Northanger  Abbey  " 
we  certainly  have  in  its  original  form.  "  Northanger 
Abbey  "  is  eminently  playful,  but  in  no  other  respect  do 
these,  the  work  of  a  girl  just  out  of  her  teens,  differ  from 
the  most  mature  productions  of  the  same  writer.  The 
insight  into  character  and  the  tone  of  quiet  irony  and 
gentle  cynicism,  as  well  as  the  creative  power,  are  the 
same.  So  are  the  minuteness  of  detail,  the  perfect 
finish,  the  quiet,  limpid,  unimpassioned  style  which  never 
interposes  the  writer  between  the  reader  and  the  subject. 

How  did  the  world  receive  these  works  which  now 
charm  its  highest  minds?  "Pride  and  Prejudice"  was 
offered  by  the  writer's  father  to  a  publisher,  who 
declined  the  offer  by  return  of  post.  It  is  due  to  his 
shade  to  say  that  he  evidently  had  not  seen  the  manu- 
script. "Northanger  Abbey"  was  sold  in  1803  for  ten 
pounds  to  a  publisher  in  Bath,  who  on  inspection 
thought  it  so  unpromising  a  venture  that  he  let  it  lie 
for  many  years  in  his  drawers,  and  was  then  glad  to 
sell  it  back  for  the  sum  which  he  had  given  for  it. 

She   who    could   write   such  novels  must  have  been 


26  LIFE  OF 

conscious  of  their  value,  and  was  to  be  pitied  during 
the  years  of  apparently  hopeless  neglect.  But  the  dis- 
appointment does  not  seem  to  have  weighed  in  the 
slightest  degree  upon  her  spirits,  or  to  have  clouded  her 
view  of  the  world ;  nor  does  she  ever  glance  at  it  either 
in  her  novels  or  in  her  letters.  In  the  meantime  she 
had  joy  in  the  work  of  her  hands.  She  loved  the 
creations  of  her  fancy  as  though  they  had  been  real 
persons.  She  looked  about  the  picture-galleries  for 
portraits  of  her  principal  characters;  she  would  give 
little  pieces  of  confidential  information  about  them  as 
though  she  had  actually  lived  among  them.  She  told 
her  nephew  and  nieces  that  Anne  Steele  never  suc- 
ceeded in  'catching  the  doctor,  that  Kitty  Bennet  was 
satisfactorily  married  to  a  clergyman  near  Pemberley, 
while  Mary  obtained  nothing  higher  than  one  of  her 
uncle  PhiUp's  clerks,  and  was  content  to  be  considered 
a  star  in  the  society  of  Meryton  ;  that  the  "  considerable 
sum"  given  by  Mr.  Norris  to  William  Price  was  one 
pound  ;  and  that  the  letters  placed  by  Frank  Churckill 
before  Jane  Fairfax,  which  she  swept  away  unread, 
contained  the  word  "  pardon."  Slie  feels  the  charm  of 
EHzabeth  in  "Pride  and  Prejudice"  as  if  she  had  met 
her  in  society.  She  was  moved  to  write  not  by  desire 
of  money,  of  which  she  received  lamentably  little,  or 
of  fame,  of  which  after  all  she  reaped  a  very  scanty 
harvest,  but  by  the  sense  of  her  gifts,  by  the  pleasure 
of  exerting  them,  by  the  desire  of  amusing  herself,  her 
family,  and  perhaps  others,  by  genuine  interest  in 
character  and  life.  Works  of  genius  are  none  the  worse 
because  they  are  wrought  for  money ;  Shakespeare  wrote 


JANE  AUSTEN.  27 

for  money,  and  so  did  Scott :  but  there  is  a  charm  in 
the  perfectly  spontaneous  and  unbought  production. 
You  are  sure  that  there  will  be  no  padding  or  scamping; 
there  is  none  of  either  in  the  works  of  Jane  Austen. 

Besides,  though  novel-writing  was  her  delight,  it  was 
not  her  life.  She  had  a  domestic  and  social  life 
independent  of  it,  and  full  both  of  enjoyment  and 
duty.  Of  this  her  letters  are  proof  enough.  People 
could  see  her  constantly  without  guessing  that  she 
was  an  authoress.  It  is  recorded  that  she  did  not 
shut  herself  up  to  write,  but  wrote  sitting  in  the 
family  circle  amidst  its  various  interruptions.  Probably 
she  was  writing  down  what  she  had  before  composed 
in  her  mind,  so  that  the  explanation  is  the  same  as 
that  of  the  apparent  rapidity  with  which  poetry 
was  written  by  Scott.  She  excelled,  we  are  told,  in 
everything  which  she  undertook.  Her  mother  called 
her  an  excellent  housekeeper.  Her  needlework,  both 
plain  and  fancy,  was  first-rate,  and  a  "housewife" 
made  for  a  sister-in-law,  which  remains  as  a  specimen  of 
it,  is  described  as  showing  a  finish  not  less  delicate  than 
that  of  her  compositions,  and  as  being  like  the  gift  of 
a  fairy.  We  are  told  that  she  spent  nmch  time  in  these 
occupations,  and  that  some  of  her  merriest  talk  was 
over  clothes  which  she  and  her  companions  were 
making,  sometimes  for  themselves  and  sometimes  for 
the  poor.  Her  handwriting  is  very  clear,  with  all  the 
letters  perfectly  formed;  and  without  being  masculine 
it  is  strong. 

As  time  went  on,  nephews  and  nieces  came  to  enlarge 
the  circle  of  her  interests  and  affections.     Children  were 


28  LIFE  OF 

irresistibly  drawn  to  her.  One  of  her  nieces  says,  "  As 
a  very  Httle  girl  I  was  always  creeping  up  to  Aunt  Jane, 
and  following  her  whenever  I  could  in  the  house  and 
out  of  it.  I  might  not  have  remembered  this  but  for  the 
recollection  of  my  mother's  telling  me  privately  that 
I  must  not  be  troublesome  to  my  aunt.  Her  first 
charm  to  children  was  great  sweetness  of  manner.  She 
seemed  to  love  you,  and  you  felt  you  loved  her  in 
return.  This,  as  well  as  I  can  now  recollect,  was  what 
I  felt  in  my  early  days  before  I  was  old  enough  to  be 
amused  by  her  cleverness.  But  soon  came  the  deliglit 
of  her  i)layful  talk.  She  could  make  everything  amusing 
to  a  child.  Then,  as  I  got  older,  when  cousins  came  to 
share  the  entertainment,  she  would  tell  us  the  most 
delightful  sturies,  chiefly  of  Fairyland,  and  her  fairies 
had  all  characters  of  her  own.  The  tale  was  invented, 
I  am  sure,  at  the  moment,  and  was  continued  for  two 
or  three  days  if  occasion  served."  Another  niece  bears 
her  testimony  to  the  same  effect,  noting  especially  the 
dclightfulness  of  her  "  long,  circumstantial  stories." 

In  1 80 1,  when  Jane  was  twenty-five,  her  father, 
growing  old,  made  over  his  clerical  duties  to  his  son, 
who  was  to  succeed  him  in  the  living,  and  went  to  live 
at  Bath,  then  a  favourite  residence  for  retired  clergymen, 
as  well  as  for  dowagers  of  other  kinds.  Jane  therefore 
had  to  bid  farewell  to  Steventon,  to  the  haunts  of  her 
youth,  to  the  old  garden  with  its  terrace,  and  to  the 
green  lanes  bright  with  wild  flowers,  along  which  she 
had  rambled  composing  her  talcs.  "  Dear,  dear  Nor- 
land,'' says  Marianne  in  "Sense  and  Sensibility,"  as 
she  wanders  alone   before  the   house   on    the   evening 


JANE  AUSTEN.  29 

before  departure,  "  when  shall  I  cease  to  regret  you  ! — 
when  learn  to  feel  a  home  elsewhere  !  Oh !  happy  house, 
could  you  know  what  I  suffer  in  now  viewing  you  from 
this  spot,  whence  perhaps  I  may  view  you  no  more  ! 
And  you,  ye  well-known  trees  ! — but  you  will  continue 
the  same.  No  leaf  will  decay  because  we  are  removed, 
nor  any  branch  become  motionless  because  we  can 
observe  you  no  longer  !  No,  you  will  continue  the 
same;  unconscious  of  the  pleasure  or  the  regret  you 
occasion,  and  insensible  of  any  change  in  those  who 
walk  under  your  shade  !  But  who  will  remain  to  enjoy 
you  ?  "  So  perhaps  felt  Jane  Austen  on  her  last  evening 
at  Steventon. 

Bath  opened  to  her  observation  a  larger  world ;  and  it 
was  a  world  which  was  brought  fairly  under  the  eye  of 
the  observer,  since  society,  over  which  the  spirit  of  Beau 
Nash  still  hovered,  evidently  retained  in  those  days  a 
good  deal  of  its  unity,  the  company  meeting  every  even- 
ing in  the  public  rooms. T  Yet  during  the  four  years 
which  Jane  Austen  spent  at  Bath,  she  wrote  nothing, 
except,  perhaps,  the  fragment  of  "  The  Watsons ; " 
and  though  Bath  is  partly  the  scene  of  "  Northanger 
Abbey"  and  "Persuasion,"  and  we  get  in  those  novels  a 
general  picture  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  great 
watering-place,  there  is  not  among  the  personages  of  either 
any  character  which  bears  a  local  stamp.  They  are  still 
taken  from  the  class  of  the  rural  gentry  and  clergy,  Bath 
being  merely  the  scene  on  which  they  met.  Of  resident 
society  there  was  probably  not  much,  and  casual  visitors 
would  not  afford  Jane  Austen  opportunities  for  the  minute 
and  patient  study  of  character  which  was  the  secret  of   \\C^  0<f^ 


30  LIFE  OF 

her  art.  Evidently  she  enjoyed  Bath.  She  scoffs  at  the 
people  who  affected  to  think  it  tiresome  after  six  weeks, 
yet  came  regularly  every  winter,  lengthening  their  six 
weeks  into  ten  or  twelve,  and  went  away  at  last  because 
they  could  afford  to  stay  no  longer.  Perhaps  after  a  gay 
evening  at  the  Rooms,  and  a  bantering  conversation  with 
some  pleasant  partner,  like  Mr.  Henry  Tilney,  it  was 
with  her  as  it  was  with  Catherine  Morland — "  her  spirits 
danced  within  her  as  she  danced  in  her  chair  all  the  way 
home."  Her  enjoyment  of  the  social  life  may  account 
for  the  inaction  of  her  pen.  Her  mind,  no  doubt,  was 
still  at  work,  and  she  was  still  gathering  materials.  She 
was  not  under  the  fell  necessity  of  writing  without 
inspiration,  or  before  her  creations  were  matured,  to 
produce  monthly  instalments  of  a  serial.  From  Bath 
she  visited  Lyme,  which  she  afterwards  made  the  scene 
of  an  episode  in  "Persuasion." 

In  1805  her  father  died,  and  she,  with  her  mother  and 
sister,  removed  to  Southampton,  which  was  their  resi- 
dence till  1809.  They  had  a  large  old-fashioned  house 
in  Castle  Square,  with  a  garden  bounded  by  the  city  wall. 
Southampton  was  a  social  centre,  and  part  of  Castle 
Square  was  occupied  by  the  castellated  mansion  of  the 
Marquis  of  Lansdowne,  whose  Marchioness  driving  out  in 
a  phaeton  with  eight  ponies,  decreasing  in  size  from  the 
wheelers  to  the  leaders,  may  have  afforded  to  a  gentle 
satirist  at  the  window  opposite  food  for  mirth  and 
reflection. 

It  was  probably  from  Southampton  that  she  visited 
Portsmouth,  and  saw  and  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the  sea- 
piece  on  some  day  when,  "though  it  was  really  March,  it 


JANE  AUSTEN.  81 

was  April  with  its  mild  air,  brisk,  soft  wind,  and  bright 
sun  occasionally  clouded  for  a  minute,  when  everything 
looked  beautiful  under  the  influence  of  such  a  sky,  with 
the  shadows  pursuing  each  other  on  the  ships  at  Spithead 
and  the  island  beyond ;  the  sea  at  high  water,  ever  varying 
in  its  hues,  dancing  in  its  glee,  and  dashing  with  a  fine 
sound  against  the  ramparts."  She  saw  also  the  social 
life  of  naval  ofificers  ashore,  and  other  denizens  of  the 
great  military  port,  but  apparently  did  not  enjoy  it.  At 
least  she  makes  Fanny  in  "Mansfield  Park"  find  no 
society  in  Portsmouth  that  could  afford  her  the  smallest 
satisfaction.  "  The  men  appeared  to  her  all  coarse,  the 
women  all  pert,  everybody  underbred,  and  she  gave  as 
little  contentment  as  she  received  from  introductions 
either  to  old  or  new  acquaintance."  This  sounds  like 
the  verdict  of  personal  experience. 

At  Lyme  she  had  gone  to  the  balls,  danced,  and  talked 
in  her  letters  about  her  dances  and  her  partners.  But 
now  she  was  fast  outliving  the  chance  of  marriage,  and 
must  have  begun  to  look  forward  to  being  an  old  maid, 
though  in  one  of  her  novels  she  has  intimated  that  a 
woman  may  be  handsomer  than  ever  at  twenty-nine.  It 
is  clear  that  she  thought  marriage  the  happier  state. 
Mrs.  John  Knightley,  in  "  Emma,"  passing  her  hfe  with 
a  husband  and  children  on  whom  she  doted,  is  her 
"model  of  right  feminine  happiness."  But  she  took  a 
placid  and  sensible  view  of  her  own  destiny.  "  You  will 
be  an  old  maid,"  says  Harriet  to  Emma,  "and  that's  so 
dreadful."  "  Never  mind,"  Emma  replies,  "  I  shall  not 
be  a  poor  old  maid,  and  it  is  poverty  only  which  makes 
celibacy  contemptible  to  a  generous  public !     A  single 


32  LIFE  OF 

woman  with  a  very  narrow  income  must  be  a  ridiculous, 
disagreeable  old  maid,  the  proper  sport  of  boys  and 
girls ;  but  a  single  woman  of  good  fortune  is  always 
respectable,  and  may  be  as  sensible  and  pleasant  as  any- 
body else."  Jane's  practical  good  sense  adds  that  the 
world  is  not  so  far  wrong  as  appears  at  first,  inasmuch  as 
a  very  narrow  income  has  a  tendency  to  contract  the 
mind  and  sour  the  temper.  Nephews  and  nieces  grow- 
ing up  around  Jane  Austen  supplied  her  with  a  substitute 
for  one  element  at  least  of  Mrs.  John  Knightley's  wedded 
happiness. 

Both  she  and  her  sister  took  rather  early  to  wearing 
the  cap  which  was  the  symbol  of  middle  age.  What  one 
did  the  other  was  sure  to  do,  for  the  two  were  so  com- 
pletely one  in  soul,  that  it  was  said  that  if  Cassandra 
were  to  be  beheaded,  Jane  would  insist  upon  being 
beheaded  too.  Jane  gives  as  her  reason  for  taking  to 
caps  that  they  saved  her  a  world  of  torment  in  hair- 
dressing,  which  in  those  days  was  a  fearful  sacrifice  to 
the  tyranny  of  fashion.  It  was,  however,  in  the  cha- 
racter of  both  sisters.  Both  of  them  were  neat,  but 
neither  of  them  was  thought  to  pay  attention  to  what 
was  fashionable  or  becoming ;  yet  in  the  Letters  it  does 
not  appear  to  the  male  mind  that  millinery  is  overlooked. 
Already,  in  one  of  the  earliest  of  her  works,  Jane  had 
playfully  warned  her  sex  that  to  dress  for  the  admiration 
of  men  is  vain,  that  the  mnle  heart  distinguishes  not 
between  the  different  kinds  of  muslin,  the  spotted,  the 
sprigged,  the  mull  or  the  jaconet.  "  Woman,"  she  says, 
"  is  fine  for  her  own  satisfaction  alone  :  no  man  will  admire 
her  the  more,  no  woman  will   hke  her  the  better  for  it. 


JANE  A  USTEN.  33 

Neatness  and  fashion  are  enough  for  the  former,  and  a 
something  of  shabbiness  or  impropriety  will  be  most 
endearing  to  the  latter."  The  last  words  are  pretty 
sharp  for  a  girl  of  twenty-one.  The  upshot  seems  to  be 
that  women  dress  not  for  anybody,  but  against  each 
other, 

In  1809,  Jane,  then  thirty-four,  with  her  mother  and 
sister  left  Southampton,  and  went  to  live  at  a  cottage 
provided  by  her  brother,  Edward  Knight,  close  to  his 
residence  of  Chawton,  near  Winchester,  and  not  far  from 
Steventon,  Jane's  old  home.  Chawton  House  has 
descended  to  Jane's  grand-nephew,  Lord  Brabourne. 
The  cottage  stood  on  the  high-road,  and  the  joyous  swarm 
of  Winchester  boys  went  by  it  on  their  return  home  for 
the  holidays.  But  the  garden  enjoyed  genteel  privacy 
behind  its  hornbeam  hedge,  and  had  grassplots,  walks 
and  shrubberies  suitable  for  exercise  and  composi- 
tion. There  were  also  rooms  for  guests.  A  Miss  Lloyd 
was  added  to  the  party,  old  Steventon  connections  were 
near,  and  the  establishment  altogether  seems  to  have 
been  happy,  cheerful,  and  propitious  to  Jane's  work. 
Inspiration  revived ;  the  pen  was  taken  up  again,  and 
Chawton,  like  Steventon,  produced  three  novels.  These 
three  were  "Emma,"  "Mansfield  Park,"  and  "Per- 
suasion." At  last  she  found  a  publisher  for  two  of 
those  which  she  had  written  at  Steventon  in  Mr.  Eger- 
ton,  to  whose  adventurous  spirit  —  and  probably  he 
deemed  it  a  very  wild  adventure — let  the  due  homage 
be  paid.  He  gave  her  for  "  Sense  and  Sensibility  "  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  which  with  gay  humility  she 
accepted   as   magnificent    payment.      The    entire    sum 

3 


34  LIFE  OF 

which  she  had  received  for  her  works  up  to  the  time 
of  her  death  fell  short  of  seven  hundred  pounds. 
"Sense  and  Sensibility"  was  published  in  1811,  when 
its  writer  was  thirty-six;  "Pride  and  Prejudice"  was 
jjublished  two  years  later.  Between  181 1  and  1816 
Jane  Austen  wrote  "Mansfield  Park,"  "Emma,"  and 
"  Persuasion.  "  Mansfield  Park "  was  published  in 
18 14;  "Emma"  in  1816.  "  Northanger  Abbey"  and 
"  Persuasion"  did  not  appear  till  1818,  after  the  writer's 
death. 

The  publications  were  anonymous,  and  Jane  Austen 
never  avowed  her  authorship.  But  her  secret  leaked 
out.  There  is  a  tradition,  not  accredited  by  her  nephew, 
that  when  invited  as  the  writer  of  "  Pride  and  Preju- 
dice "  to  meet  the  writer  of  "  Corinne "  she  declined, 
saying  that  to  no  house  to  which  she  was  not  asked  as 
Jane  Austen  would  she  go  as  the  writer  of  "  Pride  and 
Prejudice."  This  has  been  praised  as  independence,  or 
censured  as  pride;  and  if  the  story  is  true  and  the 
interpretation  of  it  correct,  it  reminds  us  of  Congreve's 
request  that  he  might  be  regarded  as  a  gentleman,  not 
as  a  playwright,  and  Voltaire's  remark  thereupon  that 
he  would  not  have  come  all  that  w^ay  to  see  a  gentleman. 
But  supposing  the  story  to  be  true,  may  not  Jane's 
motive  have  been  simply  unwillingness  formally  to  avow 
authorship  ?  In  spite  of  the  popularity  of  Miss  Burney, 
Miss  Edgeworth,  and  other  female  novelists,  there  was 
a  lingering  feeling  in  those  days  that  a  woman  in  writing 
a  book  rather  overstepped  the  limitations  of  her  sex ; 
and  Jane,  having  lived  apart  from  the  literary  world, 
and  being  scrupulous  about  social  sentiment,  was  likely 


JANE  AUSTEN.  85 

to  be  sensitive  on  this  point.  Perhaps  the  failure  to 
bring  the  authors  of  "Corinne"  and  "Pride  and  Preju- 
dice "  together  was  not  to  be  deplored,  since  Madame 
de  Stael  pronounced  Jane  Austen's  writings  vulgaires, 
by  which,  if  she  meant  anything  more  than  that  their 
subjects  were  commonplace,  she  could  not  have  made 
a  less  felicitous  remark. 

The  novels  were  appreciated  by  those  whose  judgment 
was  the  best.  In  Sir  Walter  Scott's  diary  is  the  entry  : 
"  Read  again,  for  the  third  time  at  least,  '  Pride  and 
Prejudice.'"  Sir  Walter  adds,  with  the  graceful  self-dis- 
paragement of  power:  "That  young  lady  has  a  talent 
for  describing  the  involvements  of  feelings  and  characters 
of  ordinary  life  which  is  to  me  the  most  wonderful  I 
ever  met  with.  The  big  bow-wow  strain  I  can  do 
myself,  like  any  now  going ;  but  the  exquisite  touch 
which  renders  ordinary  commonplace  things  and  char- 
acters interesting  from  the  truth  of  the  description  and 
the  sentiment  is  denied  to  me.  What  a  pity  such  a 
gifted  creature  died  so  early  ! "  Macaulay  has  in  his 
journal  the  entry  :  "  I  have  now  read  once  again  all 
Miss  Austen's  novels ;  charming  they  are.  There  are 
in  the  world  no  compositions  which  approach  nearer  to 
perfection."  Such  eulogies,  however,  never  met  Jane 
Austen's  eye,  nor  does  it  appear  that  she  heard  what 
was  said  by  Lord  Lansdowne,  Sydney  Smith,  or  Sir 
James  Mackintosh,  or  that  much  praise  from  any  quarter 
reached  her  ear.  The  Quarterly  reviewed  her  in  1815, 
very  poorly  and  in  a  doubtful  strain.  To  the  multitude 
fed  on  high-flown  sentiment,  or  romance  like  that  of  the 
"  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  her  tales  appeared  common- 


36  LIFE  OF 

place  and  trivial.  Her  fame  may  be  almost  said  to 
be  posthumous.  Very  far  from  intoxicating  was  the 
measure  of  renown  which  came  to  her,  though  she  re- 
ceived a  kind  note  from  the  Countess  of  Morley,  and 
what  was  of  much  more  value,  the  intelligence  that  she 
had  pleased  Warren  Hastings.  A  lioness  she  never  be- 
came, nor,  though  publication  brought  her  to  London, 
does  she  seem  to  have  formed  literary  acquaintances  or 
mixed  in  the  intellectual  world.  In  the  autumn  of 
1 815  she  was  in  town,  but  it  was  not  to  attend  literary 
parties,  but  to  nurse  her  brother  Harry  through  a  dan- 
gerous fever  and  slow  convalescence  at  his  house  in 
Hans  Place. 

It  was  on  this  occasion,  however,  that  a  curious  com- 
pliment was  paid  her.  Her  brother  was  attended  by  one 
of  the  Prince  Regent's  physicians  who  knew  her  secret. 
One  day  he  told  her  that  the  Prince  greatly  admired 
her  novels,  and  kept  a  set  of  them  in  each  of  his  resi- 
dences, and  that,  learning  that  she  was  in  London,  his 
Royal  Highness  had  desired  Mr.  Clarke,  the  librarian  of 
Carlton  House,  to  wait  on  her.  Mr.  Clarke  came,  took 
her  to  Carlton  House,  showed  her  its  glories,  and  told 
her  that  if  she  had  any  other  novel  forthcoming  she 
was  at  liberty  to  dedicate  it  to  the  Prince.  *'  Emma " 
was  dedicated  accordingly.  But  Mr.  Clarke,  whether 
by  high  inspiration  or  out  of  his  own  wisdom,  suggested 
as  a  subject  for  a  future  tale  "  the  habits  of  life,  the 
character  and  enthusiasm,  of  a  clergyman  who  should 
pass  his  time  between  the  metropolis  and  the  country." 
Jane  demurely  replied  that  she  might  be  ecjual  to  the 
comic  part  of  the  character,  but  not  to  the  good,  the 


JANE  AUSTEN.  37 

enthusiastic,  the  literary.  As  to  the  hterary  part,  "  she 
thinks  she  may  boast  herself  to  be  with  all  possible 
vanity  the  most  unlearned  and  uninformed  female  who 
ever  dared  to  be  an  authoress."  Mr.  Clarke,  however, 
had  not  done ;  he  had  just  been  made  Chaplain  and 
Private  Secretary  to  Prince  Leopold,  who  was  going  to 
marry  the  Princess  Charlotte,  and  in  writing  to  acknow- 
ledge the  receipt  of  "Emma,"  he  suggests  that  "an 
historical  romance  illustrative  of  the  august  House  of 
Cobourg  would  just  now  be  very  interesting."  Jane 
replies  that  she  could  no  more  write  a  romance  than 
she  could  write  an  epic  poem.  "I  could  not  sit  down," 
she  says,  "  to  write  a  serious  romance  under  any  other 
motive  than  to  save  my  life ;  and  if  it  were  indispens- 
able for  me  to  keep  it  up,  and  never  relax  into  laughter 
at  myself  or  at  other  people,  I  am  sure  I  should  be 
hung  before  I  had  finished  the  first  chapter.  No,  I 
must  keep  to  my  own  style,  and  go  on  in  my  own  way  ; 
and  though  I  may  never  succeed  again  in  that,  I  am 
convinced  that  I  should  totally  fail  in  any  other." 
Nothing  came  of  Mr.  Clarke's  suggestion  except  a 
squib  entitled,  "Plan  of  a  Novel  according  to  Hints 
from  Various  Quarters."  The  figure  of  poor  George  IV. 
has  been  covered  from  head  to  heel  with  mud  flung  on 
it,  and,  with  too  good  reason,  by  numberless  hands. 
But  let  three  things  be  recorded  in  his  favour.  He 
visited  Ireland  ;  he  fell  in  love  with  a  very  excellent  as 
well  as  charming  woman  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Fitz- 
herbert,  ami,  if  he  had  been  allowed,  would  have  made 
her  his  wife  ;  and  he  liked  Jane  Austen's  novels.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  he  did  really  read  them,  and  that  in 


88  LIFE  OF 

saying  that  he  did,  his  Ubrarian  was  not  telling  a  courtly 
fib. 

Meantime  Jane  was  performing  all  the  ordinary  duties 
of  life.  She  was  affectionately  tending  her  mother's 
age ;  she  was  the  kind  aunt  and  counsellor  of  her 
nephews  and  nieces ;  she  was,  as  we  have  seen,  her 
brother's  nurse  in  sickness.  She  wrote  sitting  in  the 
circle  at  her  little  mahogany  desk,  hiding  her  work  with 
a  piece  of  blotting-paper  if  any  one  came  in.  Nobody 
would  have  guessed  from  her  ways  that  she  was  an 
authoress.  The  success  of  her  novels  she  watched  with 
interest  of  course,  but  with  gay  serenity.  As  has  been 
said  before,  they  were  not  her  life. 

After  the  completion  of  "  Persuasion,"  a  part  of  it 
was  recast.  When  this  was  done,  Jane  Austen  was 
dying.  In  1816  she  had  begun  to  feel  her  strength  fail, 
though  it  is  not  known  how  soon  she  became  aware  of 
the  mortal  nature  of  her  disease.  Her  walks  were 
shortened;  when  they  were  given  up  she  had  to  take 
to  a  donkey-carriage.  Gradually  her  activity  within  the 
house,  too,  ceased,  and  she  had  to  lie  down.  There 
was  only  one  sofa  in  the  house,  a  sofa  being  in  those 
days  a  luxury  rare  enough  to  be  the  theme  of  Cowpcr's 
great  poem.  This  sofa  was  occupied  by  Jane's  mother, 
and  Jane  never  would  occupy  it  even  in  the  old  lady's 
absence,  but  made  herself  a  couch  with  chairs,  which 
she  pretended  was  more  comfortable  to  her  than  the 
sofa.  The  real  reason  was  drawn  out  of  her  by  the 
questioning  of  a  little  niece,  who  forced  her  to  explain 
that  if  she  had  shown  any  inclination  to  use  the  sofa, 
her  mother   might  have  scrupled  to  use  it.     In  May, 


JANE  AUSTEN.  89 

1817,  she  was  removed  to  lodgings  at  Winchester  for 
medical  advice.  The  medical  man,  Mr.  Lyford,  spoke 
hopefully,  but  hope  there  was  none,  and  the  following 
letter,  written  no  longer  in  the  strong,  clear  hand,  is 
nearly  the  last : 


"There  is  no  better  way,  my  dearest  E.,  of  thanking  you  for 
your  affectionate  concern  for  me  during  my  illness  than  by  telling 
you  myself,  as  soon  as  possible,  that  I  continue  to  get  better.  I 
will  not  boast  of  my  handwriting  ;  neither  that  nor  my  face  have  yet 
recovered  their  proper  beauty,  but  in  other  respects  I  gain  strength 
very  fast.  I  am  now  out  of  bed  from  nine  in  the  morning  to  ten 
at  night ;  upon  the  sofa,'  it  is  true,  but  I  eat  my  meals  with 
Aunt  Cassandra  in  a  rational  way,  and  can  employ  myself,  and  walk 
from  one  room  to  another.  Mr.  Lyford  says  he  will  cure  me,  and 
if  he  fails,  I  shall  draw  up  a  memorial  and  lay  it  before  the  Dean 
and  Chapter,  and  have  no  doubt  of  redress  from  that  pious, 
learned,  and  disinterested  body.  Our  lodgings  are  very  comfort- 
able. We  have  a  neat  little  drawing-room,  with  a  bow  window 
overlooking  Dr.  Cabell's  garden.  Thanks  to  the  kindness  of  your 
father  and  mother  in  sending  me  their  carriage,  my  journey  hither 
on  .Saturday  was  performed  with  very  little  fatigue,  and  had  it  been 
a  fine  day,  I  think  I  should  have  felt  none  ;  but  it  distressed  me  to 
see  Uncle  Henry  and  William  Knight,  who  kindly  attended  us  on 
horseback,  riding  in  the  rain  almost  the  whole  way.  We  expect  a 
visit  from  them  to-morrow,  and  hope  they  will  stay  the  night ;  and 
on  Thursday,  which  is  a  confirmation  and  a  holiday,  we  are  to  get 
Charles  out  to  breakfast.  We  have  had  but  one  visit  from  him, 
poor  fellow,  as  he  is  in  sick-room,  but  he  hopes  to  be  out  to-night. 
We  see  IVlrs.  Heathcote  every  day,  and  William  is  to  call  upon  us 
soon.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  E.  If  ever  you  are  ill,  may  you  be 
as  tenderly  nursed  as  I  have  been.  May  the  saa;ie  blessed  allevia- 
tions  of  anxious,  sympathizing   friends   be   yours ;   and   may  you 


'  This   was   in   lodgings   at   Winchester,    not   at    her    home    at 
Chawton. 


40  LIFE  OF 

possess,  as  I  dare  say  you  will,  the  greatest  blessing  of  all  in  the 
consciousness  of  not  being  iinwortliy  of  their  love,     /could  not  feel 

this. 

"  Vour  very  affectionate  Aunt, 

"J.  A. 
"College  St.,  Winton,  Tuesday,  A/ay  27///." 

In  the  last  letter  are  the  words,  "I  will  only  say 
further  that  my  dearest  sister,  my  tender,  watchful,  inde- 
fatigable nurse,  has  not  been  made  ill  by  her  exertions. 
As  to  what  I  owe  her,  and  the  anxious  affection  of  all 
my  beloved  family  on  this  occasion,  I  can  only  cry  over 
it,  and  pray  God  to  bless  them  more  and  more." 

Let  her  favourite  nephew  tell  the  rest : 

"  Throughout  her  illness  she  was  nursed  by  her  sister,  oflen  assisted 
by  her  sister-in-law,  my  mother.  Both  were  with  her  when  she 
died.  Two  of  her  brothers,  who  were  clergymen,  lived  near  enough 
to  Winchester  to  be  in  frequent  attendance,  and  to  administer  the 
services  suitable  for  a  Christian's  death-bed.  While  she  used  the 
language  of  hope  to  her  correspondents,  she  was  fully  aware  of  her 
danger,  though  not  appalled  by  it.  It  is  true  that  there  was  much 
to  attach  her  to  life.  She  was  happy  in  her  family ;  she  was  just 
beginning  to  feel  confidence  in  her  own  success  ;  and,  no  doubt,  the 
exercise  of  her  great  talents  was  an  enjoyment  in  itself.  We  may 
well  believe  that  she  would  gladly  liave  lived  longer ;  but  she  was 
enabled  without  dismay  or  complaint  to  prepare  for  dealh.  Slie 
was  a  humble,  believing  Christian.  Her  life  hnd  been  passed  in  the 
performance  of  home  duties,  and  the  cultivation  of  domestic  affec- 
tions, without  any  self-seeking  or  craving  after  applause.  She  had 
always  sought,  as  it  were  by  instinct,  to  promote  the  happiness  of 
all  who  came  within  her  influence,  and  doubtless  she  had  her  i-eward 
in  the  peace  of  mind  which  was  granted  her  in  her  last  days.  Her 
sweetness  of  temper  never  failed.  She  was  ever  considerate  and 
grateful  to  those  who  attended  on  her.  At  times,  when  she  felt 
rather  better,  her  ]ilnyfulness  of  spirit  revived,  and  she  amused  them 
even  in  their  sadness.     Once,  when  she  thought  herself  near  her 


JANE  AUSTEN.  41 

end,  she  said  what  she  imagined  might  be  her  last  words  to  those 
around  her,  and  particularly  thanked  her  sister-in-law  for  being  with 
her,  saying :  'You  have  always  been  a  kind  sister  to  me,  Mary.' 
When  the  end  at  last  came,  she  sank  rapidly,  and  on  being  asked 
by  her  attendants  whether  there  was  anything  she  wanted,  her  reply 
was,  '■  N'otliing  hut  death.''  These  were  her  last  words.  In  quiet- 
ness and  peace  she  breathed  her  last  on  tlie  morning  of  July  iS, 
1S17." 

Only  her  own  family  attended  the  ftineral  of  lier  of 
whom  they  were  all  "very  fond  and  very  proud,"  more 
fond  it  appears  even  than  proud.  The  "Annual  Register" 
did  not  notice  her  death.  She  was  buried  under  a  flat 
slab  of  black  marble  in  Winchester  Cathedral,  near  the 
centre  of  the  north  aisle.  The  verger  who  showed  the 
cathedral  once  asked  a  visitor  to  tell  him  "whether 
there  was  anything  particular  about  that  lady,  as  so  many 
persons  had  asked  to  see  where  she  was  buried !  "  Had 
he  thought  of  asking  the  inquirers  themselves,  he  might 
have  learned  that  much  of  what  was  most  illustrious  in 
English  literature,  and  not  a  little  of  what  was  most 
illustrious  in  English  statesmanship,  had  come  to  pay  its 
homage  at  that  lowly  tomb.  The  statesmen  perhaps  felt 
even  more  gratitude  than  the  great  men  of  letters  to  one 
who  has  so  often  smoothed  the  wrinkles  on  the  brow  of 
care. 

As  we  should  expect  from  such  a  life,  Jane  Austen's 
view  of  the  world  is  genial,  kindly,  and,  we  repeat,  free 
from  anything  like  cynicism.  It  is  that  of  a  clear- 
sighted and  somewhat  satirical  onlooker,  loving  what 
deserves  love,  and  amusing  herself  with  the  foibles,  the 
self-deceptions,  the  affectations  of  humanity.  Refined 
almost  to  fastidiousness,  she  is  hard  upon  vulgarity ;  not, 


42  LIFE  OF 

however,  on  good-natured  vulgarity,  such  as  that  of  Mrs, 
Jennings  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  but  on  vulgarity 
like  that  of  Miss  Steele,  in  the  same  novel,  combined  at 
once  with  eftrontery  and  with  meanness  of  soul. 

The  Letters,  it  has  been  already  said,  are  devoid  of 
interest,  biographical  or  general.  Their  subjects  are 
the  trivial  details  of  a  perfectly  uneventful  life.  The 
people  mentioned  in  them  are  people  of  whom  no  record 
otherwise  remains  but  the  names  upon  their  headstones. 
The  editor's  sauce,  in  fact,  is  better  than  the  meat. 
Madame  de  Sevigne  and  Horace  Walpole  threw  all  their 
art  into  their  letters.  Jane  Austen  threw  not  a  particle 
of  her  art  into  her  letters.  She  says  of  herself  that  she 
has  attained  the  only  art  of  letter-writing,  which  is  to 
express  on  paper  exactly  what  one  would  say  to  the  same 
person  by  word  of  mouth.  "  I  have  been  talking  to  you 
almost  as  fast  as  I  could  through  the  whole  of  this 
letter."  The  pervading  tone  of  her  letters  is  gay, 
playful,  and  occasionally  even  frisky  :  you  see  that  the 
writer  is  well  pleased  with  life  and  with  herself;  that  she 
is  affectionate  and  is  happy  in  the  love  of  those  around 
her.  There  is  a  great  deal  about  parties,  balls,  and 
social  enjoyments  of  every  kind,  and  the  writer's  heart 
is  in  it  all.  At  the  same  time  she  is  not  uncritical. 
Sometimes  there  is  a  pretty  caustic  touch,  "  I  would 
not  give  much  for  Mr.  Price's  chance  of  living  at  Deane: 
he  builds  his  hope,  I  find,  not  upon  anything  that  his 
mother  has  written,  but  upon  the  effect  of  what  he  has 
written  himself.  He  must  write  a  great  deal  better  than 
those  eyes  indicate  if  he  can  persuade  a  perverse  and 
narrow-minded  woman  to  oblige  those  whom  she  does 


JANE  AUSTEN.  48 

not  love."  "  Earle  and  his  wife  live  in  the  most  private 
manner  imaginable  at  Portsmouth,  without  keeping  a 
servant  of  any  kind.  What  a  prodigious  innate  love  of 
virtue  she  must  have  to  marry  under  such  circumstances." 
*'  She  (Miss  T.)  is  not  so  pretty  as  I  expected  ;  her  face 
has  the  same  defect  of  baldness  as  her  sister's,  and  her 
features  not  so  handsome;  she  was  highly  rouged,  and 
looked  rather  quietly  and  contentedly  silly  than  anything 
else."  "  Mrs.  Portman  is  not  much  admired  in  Dorset- 
shire :  the  good-natured  world,  as  usual,  extolled  her 
beauty  so  highly  that  all  the  neighbourhood  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  being  disappointed."  "  As  an  induce- 
ment to  subscribe  (to  a  library),  Mrs.  Martin  tells  me 
that  her  library  is  not  to  consist  only  of  novels.  She 
might  have  spared  this  pretension  to  our  family,  who 
are  great  novel-readers  and  not  ashamed  of  being  so  ;  but 
it  was  necessary,  I  suppose,  to  the  self-consequence  of 
half  her  subscribers."     "  What  an  alarming  bride  Mrs. 

must   have   been  ;    such   a  parade  is  one  of  the 

most  immodest  pieces  of  modesty  that  one  can  imagine. 
To  attract  notice  could  have  been  her  only  wish.  It 
augurs  ill  for  her  family ;  it  announces  not  great  sense, 
and  therefore  ensures  boundless  influence."  It  is  due, 
however,  to  the  writer  to  remember  that  so  far  from 
intending  these  Letters  for  any  eye  but  that  of  the 
person  to  whom  they  were  written,  she  would  certainly 
have  been  horrified  at  the  idea  of  their  seeing  the  light ; 
nor  does  her  satire  spare  herself.  When  she  has  to 
write  on  a  sad  subject,  such  as  the  death  of  a  sister-in- 
law,  her  emotion  is  evidently  strong,  but  its  expression  is 
measured. 


44  LIFE  OF 

To  sentimentality  Jane  Austen  was  a  foe.  Antipathy 
to  it  runs  through  her  works.  She  had  encountered  it  in 
the  romances  of  the  day,  such  as  the  works  of  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  and  in  people  who  had  fed  on  them.  What 
she  would  have  said  if  she  had  encountered  it  in  the 
form  of  Rousseauism  we  can  only  guess.  The  solid 
foundation  of  her  own  character  was  good  sense,  and 
her  type  of  excellence  as  displayed  in  her  heroines  is  a 
woman  full  of  feeling,  but  with  her  feelings  thoroughly 
under  control.  Genuine  sensibility,  however,  even  when 
too  little  under  control,  she  can  regard  as  lovable. 
Marianne  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility "  is  an  object  of 
sympathy,  because  her  emotions,  though  they  are  un- 
governed  and  lead  her  into  folly,  are  genuine,  and  are 
matched  in  intensity  by  her  sisterly  affection.  Lut 
affected  sentiment  gets  no  quarter.  Sometimes  abhor- 
rence of  it  is  even  carried  further  than  we  like.  In 
"  Persuasion,"  Richard  Musgrove  may  have  been  a 
worthless  youth  for  whom  none  of  his  family  cared  or 
pretended  to  care  till  he  was  gone.  Still,  a  mother's 
expressions  of  sorrow  for  a  lost  son,  albeit  somewhat 
fatuous,  can  hardly  be  the  proper  object  of  derision ; 
while  it  would  be  harsh  to  say  that  mourning  for  those 
who  were  objects  of  little  regard  when  living  must  be 
insincere  when  they  are  cut  off,  or  that  the  memory 
of  a  boy's  faults  could  not  be  softened  by  his  early  and 
pathetic  death. 

Jane  Austen  had,  as  she  was  sure  to  have,  a  feeling  for 
the  beauties  of  nature.  She  paints  in  glowing  language 
the  scenery  of  Lyme.  She  speaks  almost  with  rapture 
of  a  view  ^^hic]1  she  calls  thoroughly  English,  though 


JANE  AUSTEN.  45 

never  having  been  out  of  England  she  could  hardly 
judge  of  its  scenery  by  contrast.  She  was  deeply  im- 
pressed by  the  sea,  on  which,  she  says,  "  all  must  linger 
and  gaze,  on  their  first  return  to  it,  who  ever  deserve  to 
look  on  it  at  all."  But  admiration  of  the  picturesque 
had  "become  a  mere  jargon,"  from  which  Jane  Austen 
recoiled.  One  of  her  characters  is  made  to  say  that  he 
likes  a  fine  prospect,  but  not  on  picturesque  principles ; 
that  he  prefers  tall  and  flourishing  trees  to  those  which 
are  crooked  and  blasted ;  neat  to  ruined  cottages,  snug 
farmhouses  to  watch-towers,  and  a  troop  of  tidy,  happy 
villagers  to  the  finest  banditti  in  the  world. 

Tradition  says  that  Jane  Austen  in  politics  was  a  mild 
Tory.  Whatever  her  opinions  were  they  were  pretty 
sure  to  be  mild,  and  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman 
holding  two  benefices  in  the  Established  Church  at 
the  time  of  the  French  Revolution,  would  have  shown 
extraordinary  independence  of  mind  if  she  had  been 
anything  but  a  Tory.  That  Jane  was  not  a  Radical  of 
the  school  of  Godwin  is  certain,  for  she  says  of  a  man 
whom  she  meets  that  "  he  was  as  raffish  as  she  would  wish 
any  disciple  of  Godwin  to  be."  But  there  is  not  the 
slightest  tinge  of  politics  in  her  novels.  Considering 
that  her  life  exactly  coincided  with  the  tremendous 
period  of  revolution  and  revolutionary  war  which 
commenced  with  the  revolt  of  the  American  Colonies 
and  ended  with  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  it  is  surprising 
how  few  and  slight  are  the  references  to  the  events  of 
the  time  either  in  the  Letters  or  in  the  Novels.  To  the 
French  emigrants  there  are  one  or  two  allusions  ;  to  the 
French  Revolution  none,  though  under  the  same  roof 


46  LIFE  OF 

with  the  writer  was  a  connection  whose  husband  had 
been  guillotined.     Trafalgar  and  the  Egyptian  expedition 
are  mentioned;  there  is  an  allusion  in   the  Letters  to 
the   retreat   on    Corunna   and   the   death  of   Sir  John 
Moore;   but  there  is  hardly  an  expression  of  interest 
and   none   of    emotion.      Jane    says    she   would    read 
Southey's  "  Life  of  Nelson  "  if  there  was  anything  about 
her  brother  Frank  in  it.     She  says  a  good  deal  about 
cruising    and   about  the   capture   of    prizes.     But    the 
cruising  is  treated  as  calmly  as  if  it  were  an  ordinary 
trade,  and  of  the  capture  of  prizes  what  we  learn  is  that 
it  conveniently  supplied  fortunes  to  naval  gentlemen  who 
were  anxious  to  marry,  and  was  at  the  same  time  pro- 
ductive of  topaz  rings  and  gold  crosses  to  young  ladies 
who,  like  Jane  Austen,  and  Fanny  Price  in  "Mansfield 
Park,"  had  brothers  at  sea.     With  Trafalgar,  the  danger 
of  French  invasion  had  come  to  an  end,  and  the  society 
of  rural   England,  almost   unanimous   in   its   Toryism, 
enjoyed  a  calm  of  its  own  in  the  midst  of  the  European 
tempest,  like  the  windless  centre  of  a  circular  storm. 
No  Sir  Thomas  Bertram  seriously  apprehended  that  the 
torch  of   Revolution  would  singe  his  coachman's   wig. 
If  Dr.  Grant  feared  anything,  it  was  that  the  green  goose 
would  fail  to  appear  on  table  after  evening  service,  not 
that  the  Goddess  of  Reason  would  be  enthroned  on  his 
communion  table  or  eject  him  from  his  living. 

In  the  navy  as  a  profession,  Jane,  with  two  brothers 
in  it,  shows  a  keen  interest :  she  knows  it  well,  and  has 
drawn  largely  on  her  knowledge  of  it  both  in  '*  Mansfield 
Park"  and  in  "Persuasion";  she  is  versed  in  all  its 
terms  and  ways ;  is  mistress  of  its  gossip  and  its  slang ; 


JANE  A  US  TEN.  47 

and  enters  into  the  grievances  of  which,  in  those  days 
of  patronage  and  jobbery,  it  had  enough.  Here  she  is 
a  httle  Radical  "  The  Admiralty,"  she  makes  Captain 
Wentvvorth  in  " Persuasion  "  say,  "entertain  themselves 
in  sending  a  few  hundred  men  to  sea  in  a  ship  not  fit  to 
be  employed ;  but  they  have  a  great  many  to  provide 
for  ;  and  among  the  thousands  that  may  just  as  well  go 
to  the  bottom  as  not  it  is  impossible  for  them  to  dis- 
tinguish the  very  set  who  may  be  the  least  missed." 
Nothing  in  those  unimpassioned  pages  is  warmer  than 
the  eulogy  on  the  sailor's  character  and  the  defence  of 
him  against  his  detractors  in  "Persuasion."  But  Jane's 
partiality  does  not  seem  to  have  extended  to  the 
Marines,  if  we  may  judge  from  her  delineation  of 
Lieutenant  Price  and  his  household  in  "  Mansfield 
Park."  When  she  was  living  at  Southampton  she 
would  no  doubt  visit  Portsmouth,  and  there  see  the 
sailor's  life  ashore. 

In  her  general  tendencies  Jane  was  evidently  con- 
servative. Whenever  she  compares  the  old  style  with 
the  new,  you  can  see  that  her  leaning  is  in  favour  of 
the  old.  She  jealously  objects  to  innovations  in  the 
use  of  words.  She  likes  the  old-fashioned  system  of 
female  education  typified  by  the  school  of  Mrs. 
Goddard  in  "  Emma." 


"  Mrs.  Goddard  was  the  mistress  of  a  school — not  of  a  seminary, 
or  an  establishment,  or  anything  which  professed,  in  long  sentences 
of  refined  nonsense,  to  combine  liberal  acquirements  with  elegant 
morality,  upon  new  principles  and  new  systems — and  where  young 
ladies  for  enormous  pay  might  be  screwed  out  of  health  and  into 
vanity — but  a  real,  honest,  old-fashioned  boarding-school,  where  a 


48  LIFE  OF 

reasonable  quantity  of  accomplishments  were  sold  at  a  reasonable 
price,  and  wliere  girls  might  be  sent  to  be  out  of  the  way,  and 
scramble  themselves  into  a  little  education,  without  any  danger  of 
coming  back  prodigies.  Mrs.  Goddard's  school  was  in  high  repute, 
and  very  deservedly  ;  for  Highbury  was  reckoned  a  particularly 
healthy  spot  :  she  had  an  ample  house  and  garden,  gave  the 
children  plenty  of  wholesome  food,  let  them  run  about  a  great  deal 
in  the  summer,  and  in  winter  dressed  their  chilblains  with  her  own 
hands.  It  was  no  wonder  that  a  train  of  twenty  young  couple  now 
walked  after  her  to  church." 

Such  a  school,  perhaps,  was  that  at  Reading  to  which 
Jane  b-ad  been  sent  with  her  elder  sister,  because  the 
two  could  not  be  parted,  though  she  was  herself  too 
young  to  go  to  school. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  is  in  "  Emma "  a  flash  of 
something  like  Radical  sympathy  with  the  oppressed 
governess.  The  advertising  offices  for  governesses  are 
branded  as  "offices  for  the  sale,  not  quite  of  human 
flesh,  but  of  human  intellect."  The  trade  is  said  to 
be  comparable  to  the  slave  trade,  if  not  in  regard  to 
the  misery  of  the  victims,  in  regard  to  the  misery 
of  those  who  carry  it  on  !  Perhaps  the  character 
of  Miss  Taylor  in  the  same  tale  may  be  interpreted 
partly  as  a  plea  for  a  higher  appreciation  and  better 
treatment  of  her  class.  No  other  glimmering  of  the 
•'  Revolt  of  Woman  "  appears  in  Jane  Austen's  works. 
The  gospel  of  Mary  Godwin  had  no  more  found  its  way 
than  that  of  her  father  to  Steventon  Rectory  or  Chawton 
Cottage. 

Jane  Austen  held  the  mirror  up  to  her  time,  or  at 
least  to  a  certain  class  of  the  people  of  her  time ;  and 
her   time  was  two  generations  and  more  before  ours. 


JANE  A  USTEN.  49 

We  are  reminded  of  this  as  we  read  her  works  by  a 
number  of  Httle  touches  of  manners  and  customs  be- 
longing to  the  early  part  of  the  century,  and  anterior  to 
the  rush  of  discovery  and  development  which  the 
century  has  ■  brought  with  it.  There  are  no  railroads, 
and  no  lucifer  matches.  It  takes  you  two  days  and  a 
half,  even  when  you  are  flying  on  the  wings  of  love  or 
remorse,  to  get  from  Somersetshire  to  London.  A  young 
lady  who  has  snuffed  her  candle  out  has  to  go  to  bed  in 
the  dark.  The  watchman  calls  the  hours  of  the  night. 
Magnates  go  about  in  chariots  and  four  with  outriders, 
their  coachmen  wearing  wigs.  People  dine  at  five,  and 
instead  of  spending  the  evening  in  brilliant  conversation 
as  we  do,  they  spend  it  in  an  unintellectual  rubber  of 
whist,  or  a  round  game.  Life  is  unelectric,  untelegraphic; 
it  is  spent  more  quietly  and  it  is  spent  at  home.  If  you 
are  capable  of  enjoying  tranquillity,  at  least  by  way  of 
occasional  contrast  to  the  stir  and  stress  of  the  present 
age,  you  will  find  in  these  tales  the  tranquillity  of  a  rural 
neighbourhood  and  a  little  country  town  in  England  a 
century  ago. 

Chronologically,  a  novelist  of  Jane  Austen's  time 
stands  half-way  between  the  generation  of  Fielding  and 
ours.  But,  besides  being  a  woman,  and  one  of  a  very 
different  character  from  our  early  female  novelists,  such 
as  Mrs.  Aphra  Behn  or  Mrs.  Manley,  and  a  clergyman's 
daughter,  Jane,  with  her  contemporaries,  wrote  under 
the  influence  of  the  moral  and  religious  reaction  pro- 
duced in  English  society  partly  by  the  eff'orts  of  religious 
reformers,  such  as  Wesley  and  the  early  Evangelicals, 
partly  by  the  changed  character  of  the  Court,  partly  and 

4 


50  LIFE  OF 

principally  by  the  tremendous  alarm-bell  of  the  French 
Revolution.  In  her  day  "  Tristram  Shandy  "  could  not 
have  been  tolerated,  much  less  would  its  writer  have  had 
any  chance  of  a  bishopric.  The  great  novelist  of  the 
period,  though  a  thorough  man-of-the-world,  is  as  pure 
as  the  burn  that  runs  from  a  Scotch  mountain  side.  In 
Jane  Austen's  writings  there  is  now  and  then  a  faint  trace 
of  the  coarseness  of  the  preceding  age.  She  puts  a  round 
oath  into  the  mouths  of  Jack  Thorpe  and  Lieutenant 
Price.  Both  are  meant  to  be  coarse  and  repulsive  ;  but 
in  our  time  the  counterpart  of  Jane  Austen  would 
scarcely  pen  an  oath.  We  are  reminded,  too,  that  duel- 
ling had  not  gone  out  of  fashion.  "  Elinor  sighed  over 
the  fancied  necessity  of  this  (duel),  but  to  a  man  and 
a  soldier  she  presumed  not  to  censure  it."  This  was 
written  in  a  rectory. 

That  Jane  Austen  held  up  the  mirror  to  her  time  must 
be  remembered  when  she  is  charged  with  want  of  deli- 
cacy in  dealing  with  the  relations  between  the  sexes,  and 
especially  in  speaking  of  the  views  of  women  with  regard 
to  matrimony.  Women  in  those  days  evidently  did  con- 
sider a  happy  marriage  as  the  best  thing  that  destiny 
could  have  in  store  for  them.  They  desired  it  for  them- 
selves and  they  sought  it  for  their  daughters.  Other 
views  had  not  opened  out  to  them  ;  they  had  not  thought 
of  professions  or  public  life,  nor  had  it  entered  into  the 
mind  of  any  of  them  that  maternity  was  not  the  highest 
duty  and  the  crown  of  womanhood.  Apparently  they 
also  confessed  their  aims  to  themselves  and  to  each 
other  with  a  frankness  which  would  be  deemed  indeli- 
cate  in  our    time.      The  more  worldly  and  ambitious 


JANE  A  USTEN.  51 

of  them  sought  in  marriage  rank  and  money,  and 
avowed  that  they  did,  whereas  they  would  not  avow 
it  at  the  present  day.  Gossip  and  speculation  on  these 
subjects  were  common  and  more  unrefined  than  they  are 
now,  and  they  naturally  formed  a  large  part  of  the 
amusement  of  the  opulent  and  idle  class  from  which 
Jane  Austen's  characters  were  drawn.  She  only  preserves 
dramatic  truth.  Often,  too,  she  is  ironical ;  the  love  of 
irony  is  a  feature  of  her  mind,  and  for  this  also  allowance 
must  be  made.  She  does  not  approve  or  reward  match- 
making or  husband-hunting.  Mrs.  Jennings,  the  great 
matchmaker  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  is  also  a  paragon 
of  vulgarity.  Mrs.  Norris's  matchmaking  in  "  Mansfield 
Park  "  leads  to  the  most  calamitous  results.  Charlotte 
Lucas  in  "Pride  and  Prejudice,"  who  unblushingly  avows 
that  her  object  is  a  husband  with  a  good  income,  gets 
what  she  sought,  but  you  are  made  to  see  that  she  has 
bought  it  dear. 

So  with  regard  to  the  question  of  money.  Jane  is 
thoroughly  practical.  She  admits  that  a  sufificiency  of 
money  is  essential  to  happiness,  but  she  rebukes  the 
craving  for  anything  more  than  a  sufficiency.  She  dis- 
tinctly protests  against  mercenary  marriage,  and  brings  it 
to  shame  both  in  the  case  of  Willoughby  in  "  Sense  and 
Sensibility "  and  in  that  of  ^Villiam  Elliot  in  "  Per- 
suasion." She  protests,  in  the  former  of  these  tales, 
against  separating  two  young  people  who  were  attached 
to  each  other  on  the  mere  ground  of  money,  and,  in  the 
latter,  she  makes  misery  result  from  the  breaking  off  of 
an  engagement  on  the  same  grounds.  She  says  that  a 
man  would  like  to  give  a  woman  a  more  comfortable 


52  LIFE  OF 

liome  than  that  from  which  he  takes  her,  and  she  implies 
that  the  woman  would  like  to  have  the  more  comfortable 
home  given  her ;  but  in  this  she  commits  no  treason 
against  love.  Still  she  is  practical,  and  so  apparently 
was  Shakespeare.  After  all,  the  heroines  of  romantic 
and  sentimental  novels  seldom  end  in  poverty:  often 
they  marry  young  gentlemen  of  large  fortune.  Of  Jane's 
six  heroines,  three  are  made  happy  by  clergymen  of 
moderate  incomes ;  one  marries  an  officer  in  the  navy, 
with  no  fortune  but  his  pay  and  his  prize-money ;  one 
marries  a  man  of  moderate  estate,  who  holds  his  place 
in  her  heart  against  more  brilliant  expectations  ;  and  the 
sixth,  though  only  an  old  man's  life  stands  between  her 
and  poverty,  refuses  the  owner  of  a  splendid  mansion 
and  a  great  estate,  with  high  family  and  social  rank  into 
the  bargain.  This  would  hardly,  even  in  our  own  days 
of  disinterested  affection,  be  called  an  inordinate  sacri- 
fice of  female  hearts  to  Mammon.  Not  in  one  instance 
is  it  suggested  that  a  heroine  is  moved  by  anything  but 
love.  "  The  enthusiasm  of  a  woman's  love,"  it  is  said  of 
Fanny  in  "  Mansfield  Park,"  "  is  even  beyond  the  bio- 
grapher's. To  her  the  handwriting  of  the  man  she  loves 
itself,  independent  of  anything  it  may  convey,  is  a 
blessedness." 

The  good  Sir  Robert  Harry  Inglis,  while  he  intensely 
admired  Miss  Austen,  could  never  speak  of  her  without 
lamenting  the  absence  of  any  reference  to  religion,  which 
he  would  perhaps  have  liked  her  to  introduce  after  the 
fashion  of  Mrs.  Barbauld  or  Hannah  More.  The 
absence  of  reference  to  religion  is  not  total.  In 
"  Mansfield   Park "   the   ruin   of    two   young    ladies  is 


JANE  AUSTEN.  53 

ascribed   to   the   neglect   of  those   who   brought   them 
up  to  make   their   rehgion    practical  as    well   as   theo- 
retical.     In  another  tale,  it  is  alleged  as  an   objection 
to   a   lover    that   he   is   in   the   habit  of    travelling  on 
Sundays.      However,    in    those    days    genteel    people, 
except   in   very   special   circles,   such   as   those  around 
Bishop    Porteus  or  Simeon,  whatever  their   sentiments 
might  be,  did  not  talk  about  religion.     This  was  due, 
no  doubt,  largely  to  indifference;   but  in  some  degree 
it  also   proceeded   from  reverence.     There  can   be  no 
doubt  about  the  profoundly  religious  character  of  John- 
son, yet   he  did  not  talk  much  about  religion,  nor  is 
there  much  about  it  in  his  works.     Jane  Austen's  end 
we  know  was  religious,  and  there  is  not  the  slightest 
reason   for   doubting    that    her    life   was,    or   that   her 
allegiance   to  duty  had  religion  for  its   basis.     In  this 
as   in   everything   else,  she   was   sure   to   be   moderate 
and  unenthusiastic.     Her  model  of  a  preacher,  she  lets 
us     see,      was     the     moderate     and     very    far     from 
enthusiastic    Blair.      This     may     be     thought     hardly 
creditable  either   to  her  spiritual  or  her  literary  taste. 
Blair,  once  so  famous,  has  now  become  an  object  of 
ridicule.     His  rhetorical  flourishes,  it  is  true,  are  some- 
times  insufferable.      But   those  who  have   patience   to 
read   him   will   find   that    there   were   grounds   for   his 
popularity.     His  ethics  are  sound ;  his  view  of  life  and 
duty  is  sensible ;  and  he  sets  forth  an  ideal  of  religious 
character  attainable  by  people  of  the  world.     Johnson 
spoke  of  him  with  respect,  though  he  was  a  Scotchman 
and  a  Presbyterian. 

The  standard  of  clerical  duty  in  those  days  was  low 


64  LIFE  OF 

compared  with  what  it  is  now.  The  Established  Church, 
though  its  slumber  had  been  a  little  disturbed  by 
Methodism,  had  not  been  thoroughly  aroused  by  the 
formidable  advance  of  Political  Dissent  and  Rationalism 
hand  in  hand  with  Democracy.  It  was  still  thought 
enough  if  a  clergyman  went  decently  through  the 
services  on  Sunday,  christened,  married  and  buried, 
and  perhaps  gave  a  little  help  and  advice  to  the  poor. 
Non-residence  and  pluralism  were  common  and  were 
licensed  by  opinion.  Livings  were  treated  like  any 
other  kinds  of  property,  were  bought  and  sold  without 
misgiving  or  disguise,  and  were  the  usual  provision  for 
a  younger  son.  In  this  as  in  other  respects,  Jane 
Austen's  novels  faithfully  reflect  the  little  world  in  which 
she  lived.  She  shows  herself  rather  in  advance  of  her 
age  by  making  the  patron  of  a  living  insist  on  residence 
when  he  gives  it  to  the  younger  son,  instead  of  allowing 
the  son  to  continue  living  at  the  paternal  mansion  and 
ride  over  to  his  parish  once  a  week  to  do  duty. 
Pluralism  she  could  not  have  denounced  without  con- 
demning her  own  father,  who  held  two  livings,  though 
they  were  close  together.  On  the  social  importance  of 
the  clerical  office  she  dwells  emphatically  in  the  form 
of  a  reply  to  a  worldly  and  ambitious  woman  who  does 
not  like  to  marry  a  clergyman,  and  she  magnifies  the 
gift  of  preaching.  If  she  has  gibbeted  clerical  syco- 
phancy in  the  person  of  Mr.  Collins,  this  does  not  show 
tluit  she  despised  the  clergy,  but  that  she  wished  to 
laugh  the  clergy  out  of  a  sycophancy  which  disgraced 
the  profession.  Even  Mr.  Collins,  though  absurd,  is 
not  represented  as  otherwise  than  sincere,  and  it  is  by 


JANE  AUSTEN.  55 

painting  religious  hypocrites  that  novehsts  have  given 
the  most  deadly  blows  to  religion. 

Sir  Robert  Inglis  would  not  have  denied  that  Jane 
Austen's  morality  is  pure,  or  that  her  moral  judgment 
and  her  estimate  of  character  are  sound.  She  is  far 
indeed  from  any  idea  of  making  sentimental  capital,  as 
Bulwer  does,  by  tampering  with  the  moral  law.  If  she 
often  playfully  exposes  insincerity  and  self-deception,  if 
she  sometimes,  especially  in  the  freshness  of  her  youth, 
says  things  which  verge  on  cynicism,  she'  is  never  really 
cynical,  nor  does  she  ever  shake  our  faith  in  virtue. 
When  she  speaks  of  duty,  different  as  her  strain  may 
be  from  that  of  Wordsworth,  the  ring  is  as  true  as  that 
of  his  Ode. 

On  the  other  hand,  to  the  class  now  much  in  vogue 
of  novels  with  a  purpose  or  propagandist  novels,  those 
of  Jane  Austen  emphatically  do  not  belong.  Her  object 
as  a  writer  of  fiction  is  not  to  form  your  opinions, 
theological,  political,  or  social,  nor  is  it  to  reform  your 
character,  but  to  impart  to  you  the  pleasure  which  she 
felt  herself.  In  a  passage  in  "  Northanger  Abbey  "  she 
comes  for  once  before  the  curtain  to  defend  the  readers 
and  writers  of  novels  against  the  cant  of  their  detractors. 
A  perfect  novel  is  there  described  as  "a  work  in  which 
the  greatest  powers  of  the  mind  are  displayed,  in  which 
the  most  thorough  knowledge  of  human  nature,  the 
happiest  delineation  of  its  varieties,  the  liveliest  effusions 
of  wit  and  humour,  are  conveyed  to  the  world  in  the 
best  chosen  language."  Nothing  is  said  about  instruc- 
tion, or  about  correction  of  manners.  It  has  been  said 
in  praise  of  a  great  novehst  of  a  later  day,  that  when 


56  LIFE  OF 

you  read  her  you  are  in  a  confessional.  Being  in  a 
confessional  may  be  very  salutary,  but  it  is  not  pure 
delight.  Jane  Austen,  by  her  creative  genius,  has  pro- 
duced so  many  charming  groups  of  figures  among  whom 
the  serious  and  comic  parts  of  character  are  distributed. 
At  her  word  they  move  from  scene  to  scene  through 
the  little  drama  of  their  lives,  developing  their  characters 
as  they  go.  You  look  on,  enjoy  the  show  and  forget 
your  cates.  Perhaps  at  the  same  time  you  insensibly 
improve  your  knowledge  of  humanity  and  of  yourself, 
enlarge  your  sympathies,  and,  it  may  be,  take  in  some 
lesson  of  unselfishness,  courtesy,  respect  for  the  feelings 
of  others.  No  higher  mission  had  Jane  Austen;  no 
higher  mission  did  she  pretend  to  have :  if  you  want 
a  theologian,  a  political  philosopher,  a  regenerator  of 
society,  or  a  moral  disciplinarian  in  your  novelist,  you 
must  look  elsewhere. 

The  country  life  of  England  which  Jane  Austen 
painted,  though  at  this  moment  it  seems  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  critical  change,  has  hitherto  remained  in  its 
leading  features  what  it  was  in  her  time.  Sir  Thomas 
Bertram,  General  Tilney,  or  Mr.  Darcy,  the  great  land- 
owner and  local  magnate,  still  dwells  in  his  lordly 
Mansfield,  Northanger,  or  Pemberley  Manor,  with  its 
park  six  miles  round,  with  his  train  of  dependents,  and 
in  his  pristine  dignity,  though  shorn  by  modern  senti- 
ment of  some  of  the  outward  trappings  of  his  state,  such 
as  the  carriage  and  four  with  outriders  which  used 
to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  all  gazers  in  the  market  town. 
Below  the  great  landowner  there  are  still  the  small  land- 
owners and  lesser  gentry,  such  as  Mr.  Bennet  and  Mr, 


JANE  AUSTEN.  57 

Woodhouse,  living  often,  as  Mr.  Woodhouse  did,  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  town  or  village.  There  are  the  parish 
clergy,  many  of  them  connected  with  the  gentry  by 
family  ties,  as  family  livings  have  not  ceased  to  exist, 
and  all  of  them  belonging  to  the  gentry  as  an  Order. 
Below  these  again  are  still  in  the  country  the  tenant 
farmer  and  the  labourer,  and  in  the  town  the  professional 
man  or  retired  tradesman,  ranking  as  a  sort  of  half 
gentleman,  and  the  shopkeepers.  The  squire's  reign, 
however,  though  ancient,  is  no  longer  solitary,  for  com- 
mercial weahh  has  planted  its  sumptuous  villa  within 
sight  of  his  hall ;  sometimes  it  has  supplanted  him  in 
the  hall  itself.  The  richer  landowners  have  often  bought 
out  the  poorer,  and  in  the  present  day,  especially 
since  the  reduction  of  rents  by  agricultural  depression, 
Mr.  Bennet  could  hardly  afford  to  keep  Longbourn. 
Democratic  ideas  have  begun  to  find  their  way  into  rural 
society,  to  disturb  the  security  of  its  system,  and  to 
diminish  the  respect  of  the  loA'er  grades  of  it  for  the 
upper.  The  money  power  has  toned  down  the  pride 
of  family  and  the  horror  of  commercial  origin  or  con- 
nections which  are  always  displayed  by  the  characters 
in  Jane  Austen's  novels.  Birmingham  is  no  longer 
spoken  of  in  genteel  circles  as  a  place  from  which  no 
good  can  come ;  nor  would  a  county  magnate  now  think 
it  a  blot  on  his  escutcheon,  as  county  magnates  did 
three-quarters  of  a  century  ago,  to  have  intermarried 
with  a  cotton-spinner  like  Robert  Peel.  The  clergymen 
have  become,  both  spiritually  and  socially,  far  more 
active  and  worthier  of  their  calling;  they  have  ceased 
to  hunt  and  shoot,  and  none  of  them  would  now  avow, 


68  LIFE  OF 

as  a  clergyman  docs  in  "  Persuasion,"  that  he  thought 
himself  very  lucky  in   being   presented   to   a   benefice 
where   the  neighbouring  proprietors   preserved   strictly, 
and   there   would   be  good   sport.      The   Neo-Catholic 
movement  has  spread  over  the  parishes,  or  at  least  over 
the  rectories ;  the  churches  have  been  restored  and  the 
parsons  have  become  ritualistic.     The  clergyman  is  now 
always  resident,  and  there  could  be  no  question  whether 
Edmund  Bertram  should  go  to  live  among  his  parishioners 
or  continue  to  live  at  Mansfield  Park.     On  the  other 
hand,  railroads  and  the  general  movement  of  the  age 
have  made  the  squire  restless  :    he  spends  less  of  his 
time  at  home,   more  in  T.ondon  or  on  the  Continent. 
In  Jane  Austen's  day  only  the  grandees  went  to  town 
for   the  season.      Mr.  Knightley  spent  the  year  in  his 
own  place.     Sir  Thomas  Bertram,  since  he  had  ceased 
to  be  a  member  of  Parliament,  passed  his  days  quietly 
in  his  mansion,  and  his  family  did  the  same;  only  the 
eldest  son,   as  a  sporting  man,   making   trips   to  New- 
market.     In  these  days  the  family  would  be  going  to 
the  Continent  every  year.     If  Mr.  Allen  goes  to  Bath, 
it  is  for  his  gout,  and  though  a  wish  for  gay  society  drew 
many  to  the  great  watering-place,  it  seems  to  have  been 
under  pretence  of  taking  the  waters.     The  squire's  in- 
tellectual horizon  has   been  enlarged  with  that  of  the 
rest  of  the  world  by  journalism  and  telegraphs.     Perhaps 
since   the   reform   of  the  Universities   he  is  somewhat 
better  educated,  though  he  is  still  not  a  reading  man. 
Perhaps  his  wife  and  daughters   have  also  shared   the 
march  of  intellect,  and  are  somewhat  less  devoted  to 
fancy    needlework     and    gossip.       His     manners    and 


JANE  AUSTEN.  59 

language  have  no  doubt  improved.  The  march  of 
refined  luxury  beginning  in  the  city  has  extended  to  the 
hall,  and  the  craving  for  all  that  is  exciting  and  stimu- 
lating has  altered  the  character  of  the  old  sports, 
turning  the  hunt  into  a  steeplechase  and  the  shooting- 
party  into  a  battue.  But  the  life  which  Jane  Austen 
painted  retains  its  leading  features,  and  is  recognized 
by  the  reader  at  the  present  day  with  little  effort  of 
the  imagination.  It  is  a  life  of  opulent  quiet  and  rather 
dull  enjoyment,  physically  and  morally  healthy  com- 
pared with  that  of  a  French  aristocracy,  though  without 
much  of  the  salt  of  duty  ;  a  life  uneventful,  exempt 
from  arduous  struggles  and  devoid  of  heroism,  a 
life  presenting  no  materials  for  tragedy  and  hardly  an 
element  of  pathos,  a  life  of  which  matrimony  is  the 
chief  incident,  and  the  most  interesting  objects  are  the 
hereditary  estate  and  the  heir. 

Such  a  life  could  evidently  furnish  no  material  for 
romance.  It  could  furnish  materials  only  for  that  class 
of  novel  which  corresponds  to  sentimental  comedy.  To 
that  class  all  Jane  Austen's  novels  belong.  She  said 
with  perfect  truth  that  she  could  not  for  her  life  have 
written  a  romance.  Perhaps  Scott  was  right  in  thinking 
that  he  could  not  have  written  "  Mansfield  Park," 
though  he  could  write  "  St.  Ronan's  Well :  "  but  Jane 
Austen  assuredly  could  not  have  written  "  The  Heart  of 
Midlothian  "  or  "  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor  : "  all  that 
she  could  do  with  romance  was  to  satirize  it  as  the 
"Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  is  satirized  in  "Northanger 
Abbey."  If  anything  approaching  to  the  tragic  occurs, 
such  as  the  seduction  of  Maria  Bertram  in  "  Mansfield 


60  LIFE  OF 

Park,"  or  the  seduction  of  the  girl  under  General 
Brandon's  protection  by  Willoughby  and  the  con- 
sequent duel  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility,"  it  takes  place 
in  the  background,  and  is  recounted  without  being 
described.  The  nearest  approach  to  passion  is  the 
ungoverned  sensibility  of  Maria  Dashwood.  The  most 
thrilling  adventures  are  little  more  than  scrapes,  though 
they  are  scrapes  in  which  the  skill  of  the  artist  makes 
us  feel  almost  as  much  interest  as  we  feel  in  the  adven- 
tures of  the  romantic  school. 

The  scene  in  "Northanger  Abbey,"  and  in  "Per- 
suasion" is  laid  partly  in  Bath,  with  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  Jane  Austen  was  well  acquainted.  But 
her  characters,  as  has  been  said,  are  still  the  same, 
though  they  are  transported  to  the  watering-place.  Nor 
does  she  go  beyond  a  narrow  zone  of  class.  Her 
personages  are  all  taken  from  the  circle  of  the  gentry 
and  their  connections.  If  people  of  any  other  grade 
are  introduced,  they  never  play  an  important  part 
in  the  drama;  generally  they  are  mutes.  It  may  seem 
strange  that  a  passionate  admirer  of  Crabbe,  the  poet 
of  the  lower  middle  class  and  of  the  poor,  should  not 
have  resorted  to  the  mine  in  which  he  had  discovered 
treasures  of  pathos  and  humour.  With  the  middle 
class,  upper  or  lower,  Jane  Austen  came  little  into 
contact,  but  she  did  come  into  contact  with  the 
labouring  poor  of  the  country  parish,  and  we  see  that 
she  went  among  them  like  a  good  clergyman's  daughter, 
made  friends  of  them  and  reheved  their  wants.  She 
could  not,  however,  have  the  same  opportunities  of 
studying  their  life  and  characters  thoroughly  as  she  had 


JANE  AUSTEN.  61 

of  studying  thoroughly  the  life  and  characters  of  those 
with  whom  her  life  was  passed.  Furthermore  the  squalor 
of  extreme  poverty  would  be  likely  to  repel  her,  for  she 
was  evidently  very  refined  in  her  tastes,  and  she  is 
probably  giving  expression  to  her  own  sentiment  when 
she  makes  Fanny  Price  recoil  from  the  coarseness  and 
untidiness  of  her  father's  house,  and  contrast  them  with 
the  gentility  of  Mansfield  Park.  The  interesting  part  of 
poverty,  again,  and  its  capacity  of  affording  materials 
for  art,  poetry,  or  fiction,  lie  too  much  in  the  struggles 
and  sufferings  of  the  poor :  these  are  tragic,  and  tragedy 
was  not  the  line  of  Jane  Austen.  It  may  be  just  to  her 
to  quote  a  passage  in  *'  Emma  "  on  this  subject,  which 
evidently  reflects  the  writer's  own  ideas  and  habits  : 

"They  were  now  approaching  the  cottage,  and  all  idle  topics 
were  superseded.  Emma  was  very  compassionate ;  and  the  dis- 
tresses of  the  poor  were  as  sure  of  relief  from  her  personal  attention 
and  kindness,  her  counsel  and  her  patience,  as  from  her  purse. 
She  understood  their  ways,  could  allow  for  their  ignorance  and 
their  temptations,  had  no  romantic  expectations  of  extraordinary 
virtue  from  those  for  whom  education  had  done  so  little,  entered 
into  their  troubles  with  ready  sympathy,  and  always  gave  her 
assistance  with  as  much  intelligence  as  good-will.  In  the  present 
instance,  it  was  sickness  and  poverty  together  which  she  came  to 
visit ;  and  after  remaining  there  as  long  as  she  could  give  comfort 
or  advice,  she  quitted  the  cottage  with  such  an  impression  of  the 
scene  as  made  her  say  to  Harriet,  as  they  walked  away, — 

"  'These  are  the  sights,  Harriet,  to  do  one  good.  How  trifling 
they  make  everything  else  appear  1  I  feel  now  as  if  I  could  think  of 
nothing  but  these  poor  creatures  all  the  rest  of  the  day  ;  and  yet 
who  can  say  how  soon  it  may  all  vanish  from  my  mind  ? ' 

"  '  Very  true,'  said  Harriet.  '  Poor  creatures  !  one  can  think  of 
nothing  else.' 

"  '  And  really,  I  do  not  think  the  impression  will  soon  be  over,' 


62  LIFE  OF 

said  Emma,  as  she  crossed  the  low  hedge  and  tottering  footstep 
which  ended  the  narrow,  slippery  path  through  the  cottage  garden, 
and  brought  them  into  the  lane  again.  '  I  do  not  think  it  will,' 
stopping  to  look  once  more  at  all  the  outward  wretchedness  of  the 
place,  and  recall  the  still  greater  within. 

"  '  Oh  dear,  no,'  said  her  companion. 

"They  walked  on.  The  lane  made  a  slight  bend  ; and  when  that 
bend  was  passed,  Mr.  Elton  was  immediately  in  siglit,  and  so  near 
as  to  give  Emma  time  only  to  say  farther, — 

"  '  Ah,  Harriet,  here  conies  a  very  sudden  trial  of  our  stability  in 
good  thoughts.  Well  (smiling),  I  hope  it  may  be  allowed  that  if 
compassion  has  produced  exertion  and  relief  to  the  sufferers,  it  has 
done  all  that  is  truly  important.  If  we  feel  for  the  wretched 
enougli  to  do  all  we  can  for  them,  the  rest  is  empty  sympathy,  only 
distressing  to  ourselves.' " 

There  seems  to  be  some  point  in  tlie  last  sentence, 
and  we  might  suppose  that  it  was  directed  against 
Hterary  affectation  of  sympathy  with  poverty  if  we  did 
not  know  that  the  writer  adored  Crabbe. 

Of  the  worship  of  rank,  or  of  social  sycophancy  of 
any  kind,  there  is  not  a  trace  in  Jane  Austen.  In 
"  Northanger  Abbey,"  and  in  "  Persuasion,"  indeed 
everywhere,  she  sliows  a  hearty  contempt  for  such  i)ro- 
pensities.  The  nobility  hardly  come  within  the  range  of 
her  observation,  and  she  has  very  little  to  say  about 
them ;  but  she  ridicules  aristocratic  pride  in  Lady 
Catherine  de  Bourgh,  and  treats  with  little  respect  the 
august  Lady  Dalrymple  and  her  daughter.  We  learn 
from  one  of  her  letters  that  she  declined  to  stand  up  at 
a  ball  with  the  heir  of  Lord  Bolton  because  he  danced 
badly. 

Metaphor  has  been  exhausted  in  depicting  the  per- 
fection   of    Jane    Austen's    art,    combined    with    the 


JANE  AUSTEN.  63 

narrowness  of  her  field.  The  analogy  of  Dutch  painting 
is  not  happy,  since  it  suggests  not  only  minuteness  of 
detail,  but  a  class  of  subjects  some  of  them  hardly  fit 
for  art,  and  certainly  most  uncongenial  to  Jane  Austen. 
Photography  is  mechanical.  Much  happier  is  her  own 
comparison  of  her  work  to  that  of  a  miniature  painter. 
"  What  should  I  do,"  she  says  to  another  writer, 
"  with  your  strong,  vigorous  sketches,  full  of  variety  and 
glow  ?  How  could  I  possibly  join  them  on  to  the  little 
bit  (two  inches  wide)  of  ivory  on  which  I  work  with  so 
fine  a  brush  as  produces  little  effect  after  much  labour?" 
Her  own  fancy  needle-work  might  furnish  another 
simile.  Her  love  of  the  vivid  elaboration  of  detail  is 
almost  unique.  In  "  Emma ''  a  party  is  made  to  pick 
strawberries  in  Mr.  Knightley's  garden.  An  ordinary 
writer  would  probably  be  content  with  saying  that  the 
party  picked  strawberries  till  they  were  tired.  But  this 
is  Jane  Austen's  treatment : 

"The  whole  party  were  assembled,  excepting  Frank  Churchill, 
who  was  expected  every  moment  from  Richmond  ;  and  Mrs.  Elton, 
in  all  her  apparatus  of  happiness,  her  large  bonnet  and  her  basket, 
was  very  ready  to  lead  the  way  in  gathering,  accepting,  or  talking. 
Strawberries,  and  only  strawberries,  could  now  be  thought  or  spoken 
of.  '  The  best  fruit  in  England  —  everybody's  favourite — always 
wholesome.  These  the  finest  beds  and  finest  sorts.  Delightful  to 
gather  for  one's  self — the  only  way  of  really  enjoying  them.  Morn- 
ing decidedly  the  best  time — never  tired — every  sort  good — hautboy 
infinitely  superior — no  comparison — the  others  hardly  eatable — 
hautboys  very  scarce — Chili  preferred — white  wood  finest  flavour 
of  all — price  of  strawberries  in  London — abundance  about  Bristol — 
Maple  Grove — cultivation — beds  when  to  be  renewed — gardeners 
thinking  exactly  different — no  general  rule — gardeners  never  to  be 
put  out  of  their  way — delicious  fruit — only  too  rich  to  be  eaten 


64  LIFE  OF 

much  of — inferior  to  cherries — currants  more  refreshing — only  objec- 
tion to  gathering  strawberries  the  stooping — glaring  sun — tired  to 
death— could  bear  it  no  longer — must  go  and  sit  in  the  shade.'  " 

Here  is  one  more  instance  out  of  a  hundred  of  tlie 
same  faculty : 

"  When  the  ladies  withdrew  to  the  drawing-room  after  dinner, 
this  poverty  was  particularly  evident,  for  the  gentleman  had 
supplied  the  discourse  with  some  variety — the  variety  of  politics, 
enclosing  land,  and  breaking  horses — but  then  it  was  all  over,  and 
one  subject  only  engaged  the  ladies  till  coffee  came  in,  which  was 
the  comparative  heights  of  Hany  Dashwood  and  Lady  Middleton's 
second  son,  William,  who  were  nearly  of  the  same  age. 

"  Had  both  the  children  been  there,  the  affair  might  have  been 
determined  too  easily  by  measuring  them  at  once  ;  but  as  Harry 
only  was  present,  it  was  all  conjectural  assertions  on  both  sides,  and 
everybody  had  a  right  to  be  equally  positive  in  their  opinion,  and  to 
repeat  it  over  and  over  again  as  often  as  they  liked. 

"  The  parties  stood  thus  : 

"  The  two  mothers,  though  each  really  convinced  that  her  own 
son  was  the  tallest,  politely  decided  in  favour  of  the  other. 

"  The  two  grandmothers,  with  not  less  partiality,  but  more 
sincerity,  were  equally  earnest  in  support  of  their  own  descendant. 

"  Lucy,  who  was  hardly  less  anxious  to  please  one  parent  than 
the  other,  thought  the  boys  were  both  remarkably  tall  for  their  age, 
and  could  not  conceive  that  there  could  be  tlie  smallest  difference  in 
the  world  between  them  ;  and  Miss  Steele,  with  yet  greater  address, 
gave  it,  as  fast  as  she  could,  in  favour  of  each. 

"  Elinor,  having  once  delivered  her  opinion  on  William's  side,  by 
which  she  offended  Mrs.  Ferrars,  and  Fanny  still  more,  did  not  see 
the  necessity  of  enforcing  it  by  any  farther  assertion  ;  and  Marianne, 
when  called  on  for  hers,  offended  them  all  by  declaring  that  she 
had  no  opinion  to  give,  as  she  had  never  thought  about  it." 

Nor  are  we  ever  led  to  feel  that  the  writer  is  going 
out  of  her  way  to  make  a  description.     The  elaboration, 


JANE  AUSTEN.  65 

though  wonderful,  seems  as  natural  as  that  of  a  fine 
miniature.  The  scene  just  given  is  not  excrescence, 
since  it  develops  the  character  of  those  who  take  part 
in  it. 

This,  meagre  as  it  is,  is  pretty  much  the  sum  of  what 
we  know  about  the  woman.  The  artist  can  only  be 
presented  by  giving  an  account  of  her  works.  In  doing 
this  our  object  will  be  not  only  to  introduce  and  com- 
mend them  to  those,  many  we  fear  in  number  especially 
among  people  under  fifty,  who  have  not  yet  read  them, 
but  to  help  as  far  as  we  can  in  the  appreciation,  or  at  all 
events  the  study  of  their  construction,  of  the  fine  touches 
of  art  with  which  they  abound,  and  of  the  varieties  of 
social  character  which  they  portray.  We  would  endeavour, 
in  other  words,  to  furnish  not  only  an  introduction,  but 
a  guide  to  the  treasure-house  of  Jane  Austen's  writings. 
It  may  be  safely  said  that  not  only  the  guide  but  the 
introduction  is  needed  by  a  great  mass  even  of  pretty- 
well-read  people  on  both  sides,  and  especially  on  the 
American  side,  of  the  Atlantic.  A  flood  of  modern 
fiction  pours  in,  and  sensationalism  prevails.  Jane 
Austen's  tales  are  known  to  relate  to  a  by-gone  time; 
they  are  known  to  be  quiet  and  devoid  of  thrilling 
incident  ;  they  are  spoken  of  respectfully  as  classics, 
and  as  classics  allowed  to  rest  upon  the  shelf.  • 


CHAPTER     11. 

"  T)RIDE  and  Prejudice  "  has  been  generally  thought 
X  the  best  of  the  series.  Philip  Darcy  is  Pride ; 
Elizabeth  Bennet  is  Prejudice;  and  the  plot  is  the 
struggle  of  their  mutual  attraction  against  their  mutual 
repulsion,  ending  in  love  and  marriage.  Elizabeth 
has  been  playfully  pronounced  a  charming  being 
by  her  creatress,  who  perhaps  made  her  partly  in 
her  own  image.  She  is  not  supremely  beautiful,  but 
has  force  and  charm  of  character,  excellent  sense,  and  a 
lively  wit.  She  is  the  second  of  the  five  daughters  of 
Mr.  Bennet,  the  owner  of  Longbourn,  with  an  estate  of 
two  thousand  a  year,  and  thus  ranking  among  the  gentry 
of  the  second  degree.  Her  father  is  "  a  mixture  of  quick 
parts,  sarcastic  humour,  reserve  and  caprice."  Her 
mother  is  an  almost  incredibly  silly  and  vulgar  woman, 
whose  pretty  face  lured  Mr.  Bennet  into  an  intellectual 
misalliance,  the  consequences  of  which  cause  him  to 
shut  himself  up  a  good  deal  in  his  library  and  take  little 
thought  of  his  family,  while  he  makes  tliem  the  butts  of 
his  caustic  wit.  Jane,  the  eldest  daughter,  is  a  great 
beauty,  faultless  in  character  and  amiable  to  the  verge 
of  insipidity.     Mary  is   a   bookworm  and  a  moralizing 


LIFE  OF  J  A  NE  A  US  TEN.  67 

pedant.  Lizzy  and  Kitty  are  like  their  mother,  silly, 
vulgar,  giggling  girls,  always  running  after  the  officers  of 
the  regiment  quartered  at  Meryton.the  little  neighbouring 
town.  As  Mr.  Bennet's  estate — he  having  no  son — is 
entailed  on  a  cousin,  Mrs.  Bennet  may  be  excused  for 
anxiety  to  see  her  daughters  well  married,  though  not  for 
the  way  she  sets  about  it  or  the  flagrancy  of  her  match- 
making. The  connections  of  the  family  are  commercial 
and  ungenteel.  Mr.  Philip  Darcy  is  a  young  man  of  the 
highest  family,  with  a  great  estate.  His  mind  and 
character  are  intrinsically  excellent,  but  their  excellence 
is  masked  by  pride.  An  only  son,  he  has,  by  his  own 
confession,  "  been  spoiled  by  his  parents,  taught  what 
was  right  but  not  taught  to  conceal  his  temper,  given 
good  principles,  but  left  to  follow  them  in  pride  and 
conceit,  allowed,  encouraged,  almost  taught  to  be  selfish 
and  overbearing,  to  care  for  none  beyond  his  own  family 
circle,  to  think  meanly  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  to 
wish  at  least  to  think  meanly  of  their  sense  and  worth 
compared  with  his  own." 

The  drama  opens  with  the  arrival  in  the  Bennets' 
neighbourhood  of  a  friend  of  Darcy,  Mr.  Bingley,  who 
takes  Netherfield,  a  large  house,  with  some  intention 
of  settling.  As  Mr.  Bingley  is  rich  and  unmarried,  Mrs. 
Bennet's  hopes  are  at  once  excited,  and  Mr.  Bennet  is 
teased  into  calling  on  the  new-comer.  Darcy  is  on  a 
visit  to  Bingley,  and  is  thus  brought  into  contact  with 
Elizabeth  Bennet  and  her  family.  At  a  Meryton  ball, 
where  they  first  meet,  Darcy  displays  his  pride  and 
forfeits  popularity  by  stalking  about  the  room  without 
dancing,  and  treating  everybody  as  beneath  his  notice. 


68  LIFE  OF 

Elizabeth  overhears  him  speaking  of  her  disparagingly, 
and  declining  to  be  introduced  to  her.  Afterwards,  seeing 
more  of  her,  he  is  visibly  attracted  to  her,  and  feels  the 
charm  of  her  character.  His  ice  begins  to  thaw  under 
her  playful  rallying.  He  hovers  about  her,  and  passages 
occur  between  them  which  are  evidently  preludes  to  love. 
But  he  is  repelled  by  the  insufferable  vulgarity  of  the 
inferior  members  of  her  family,  especially  her  mother,  as 
well  as  by  her  mercantile  connections.  Mr.  Bingley  has 
with  him  his  two  fashionable  and  dashing  but  low- 
minded  sisters,  Mrs.  Hurst  and  Miss  Bingley ;  and  Miss 
Bingley,  who  is  herself  angling  outrageously  for  Darcy, 
does  her  best  to  set  him  against  Ehzabeth.  Bingley 
himself  meanwhile  has  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  the 
lovely  and  amiable  Jane.  Elizabeth  dreams  of  nothing 
less  than  of  the  conquest  she  is  making  of  Darcy.  At 
this  juncture  a  comical  suitor  appears  for  her  hand  in  the 
person  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Collins,  heir-presumptive  to 
Longbourn,  who  proposes  by  marrying  one  of  his  fair 
cousins  to  make  them  amends  for  cutting  them  out  of  the 
property,  and  at  the  same  time  to  fulfil  the  behest  of  his 
patroness,  the  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh,  whose  pleasure 
it  is  that  he  should  marry.  He  proposes  in  solemn  form 
and  is  rejected,  to  the  great  disgust  of  Mrs.  Bennet,  who 
little  dreams  for  what  high  destiny  her  daughter  is 
reserved,  and  thinks  of  Mr.  Darcy  only  as  a  haughty, 
disagreeable  man.  The  love  affairs  are  advanced  by  a 
visit  of  some  days  paid  by  the  two  sisters  to  Netherfield, 
where  Jane,  thanks  to  her  mother's  scheming,  is  laid  up 
with  a  bad  cold  and  Elizabeth  goes  to  attend  her.  Darcy 
shows  his  interest  in  Elizabeth  by  defending  her  against 


JANE  AUSTEN.  69 

the  malice  of  Bingley's  sisters  and  the  jealousy  of  one  of 
them,  while  Bingley  is  manifestly  on  the  point  of 
proposing  to  Jane.  But  all  is  apparently  ruined  by  a 
ball  at  Netherfield  at  which  the  objectionable  portion  of 
the  Bennet  family  displays  its  character  in  a  fatal  manner. 
Mrs.  Bennet  talks  of  her  expectations  for  her  daughter 
Jane  within  earshot  of  Darcy,  and  Mary  exhibits  her 
accomplishments  with  disastrous  effect  by  singing  two 
songs  after  supper.  Darcy  casts  Elizabeth  out  of  his 
heart,  persuades  Bingley  to  give  up  Jane,  Bingley's  two 
sisters  of  course  lending  their  sinister  aid,  and  the  whole 
party  takes  flight  from  Netherfield  to  town.  Jane  is  left 
forlorn,  and  Elizabeth,  divining  what  has  happened  and 
who  are  the  authors  of  it,  deeply  resents  the  injury  done 
to  her  sister.  Her  prejudice  against  Darcy  has  been 
strengthened  by  her  intercourse,  which  at  one  time 
seems  approaching  a  dangerous  point,  with  Wickham,  an 
officer  of  the  militia  regiment  quartered  at  Meryton,  and 
a  very  fascinating  young  man.  Wickham  is  the  son  of 
a  trusted  steward  of  Darcy's  father,  and  had  been 
bequeathed  by  the  old  gentleman  to  his  heir's  liberality 
and  care.  He  has  a  dark  tale  of  wrong  to  tell  against 
Darcy,  whom  he  paints  with  artful  touches  as  not  only 
the  haughtiest  and  coldest,  but  the  most  selfish  and 
unfeeling  of  men.  Elizabeth  is  ready  to  believe  anything 
bad  of  Darcy,  and  her  reliance  on  the  truth  of  Wickham's 
tale  is  not  shaken  by  seeing  that  it  is  Wickham  who 
avoids  meeting  Darcy,  not  Darcy  who  avoids  meeting 
Wickham.  Thus  a  double  wall  of  adamant  seems  to 
have  been  raised  between  Elizabeth  and  Darcy. 

But  destiny  is  not  to  be  baffled,  and  the  barrier  opens 


70  LIFE  OF 

again.  Mr.  Collins,  rejected  by  Elizabeth,  has  been 
accepted  by  her  practical  friend,  Miss  Charlotte  Lucas. 
Elizabeth  goes  to  stay  with  them  at  the  parsonage,  close 
to  Rosings,  the  seat  of  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh, 
patroness  of  the  living  and  aunt  of  Darcy.  Lady 
Catherine  is  an  insolent  aristocrat,  tyrannizing  over 
everybody  about  her,  meddling  with  everybody's  busi- 
ness, and  slavishly  adored  by  Mr.  Collins.  She  has  a 
sickly,  pampered  daughter,  whom  she  destines  to  marry 
Darcy,  so  as  to  unite  the  Rosings  and  Pemberley  estates. 
At  the  same  time,  of  course,  Darcy  comes  to  visit  his 
aunt,  and  as  the  party  at  the  parsonage  is  often  honoured 
with  a  command  to  make  up  her  ladyship's  dinner-party 
at  Rosings,  intercourse  with  Elizabeth  is  renewed.  With 
the  renewal  of  his  intercourse  with  Elizabeth,  Darcy's 
love  revives,  and  perhaps  its  revival  is  assisted  by  the 
admiration  evidently  felt  for  her  by  his  friend,  Colonel 
Fitzwilliam,  who  has  come  with  him  to  Rosings.  Once 
more  he  hovers  about  her  with  a  mixture  in  his  manner 
of  interest  and  constraint,  which  denotes  an  internal 
struggle.  He  surprises  her  and  the  rest  of  the  party  by 
calling  familiarly  at  the  parsonage,  he  haunts  her  favourite 
walk :  the  mistress  of  the  parsonage  begins  to  suspect 
the  truth,  but  to  Elizabeth  it  appears  impossible.  One 
evening,  knowing  Elizabeth  to  be  alone,  he  suddenly, 
and  to  her  great  astonishment,  presents  himself  at  the 
parsonage.  Unluckily  for  him,  she  has  extracted  from 
his  friend,  Colonel  Fitzwilliam,  complete  confirmation  of 
her  suspicion  that  he  it  was  who  had  persuaded  Bingley 
to  give  up  Jane,  and  she  had  been  brooding  over  Jane's 
melancholy  letters  when  he  entered.     She  had,   in  fact, 


JANE  A  USTEN.  71 

been  prevented  from  going  with  the  Collinses  to  dine  at 
Rosings  by  a  headache  which  her  agitation  had  caused. 
There  follows  this  scene,  in  which  Pride  encounters 
Prejudice  with  a  violence  which  seems  finally  to  wreck 
their  predestined  happiness  : 

"  In  a  hurried  manner  he  immediately  began  an  inquiry  after  her 
health,  imputing  his  visit  to  a  wish  of  hearing  that  she  were  better. 
She  answered  him  with  cold  civility.  He  sat  down  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  getting  up,  walked  about  the  room.  Elizabeth 
was  surprised,  but  said  not  a  word.  After  a  silence  of  several 
minutes,  he  came  towards  her  in  an  agitated  manner,  and  thus 
began  : 

"  'In  vain  have  I  struggled.  It  will  not  do.  My  feelings  will 
not  be  repressed.  You  must  allow  me  to  tell  you  how  ardently  I 
admire  and  love  you.' 

"  Elizabeth's  astonishment  was  beyond  expression.  She  started, 
coloured,  doubted,  and  was  silent.  This  he  considered  sufficient 
encouragement,  and  the  avowal  of  all  that  he  felt,  and  had  long 
felt  for  her,  immediately  followed.  He  spoke  well  ;  but  there  were 
feelings  besides  those  of  the  heart  to  be  detailed,  and  he  was  not 
more  eloquent  on  the  subject  of  tenderness  than  of  pride.  His 
sense  of  her  inferiority — of  its  being  a  degradation— of  the  family 
obstacles  which  judgment  had  always  opposed  to  inclination,  were 
dwelt  on  with  a  warmth  which  seemed  due  to  the  consequence  he 
was  wounding,  but  was  very  unlikely  to  recommend  his  suit. 

"  In  spite  of  her  deeply-rooted  dislike,  she  could  not  lie  insensi- 
ble to  the  compliment  of  such  a  man's  affection,  and  though  her 
intentions  did  not  vary  for  an  instant,  she  was  at  first  sorry  for  the 
pain  he  was  to  receive  ;  till,  roused  to  resentment  by  his  subsequent 
language,  she  lost  all  compassion  in  anger.  She  tried,  however,  to 
compose  herself  to  answer  him  with  patience,  when  he  should  have 
done.  He  concluded  with  representing  to  her  the  strength  of  that 
attachment  which,  in  spite  of  all  his  endeavours,  he  had  found 
impossible  to  conquer  ;  and  with  expressing  his  hope,  that  it  would 
now  be  rewarded  by  her  acceptance  of  his  hand.  As  he  said  this, 
she  could  easily  see  that  he  had  no  doubt  of  a  favovirable  answer. 


72  LIFE  OF 

He  spoke  of  apprehension  and  anxiety,  but  his  countenance  ex- 
pressed real  security.  Such  a  circumstance  could  only  exasperate 
farther,  and,  when  he  ceased,  the  colour  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  she 
said — 

" '  In  such  cases  as  this,  it  is,  I  believe,  the  established  mode  to 
express  a  sense  of  obligation  for  the  sentiments  avowed,  however 
unequally  they  may  be  returned.  It  is  natural  that  obligation  should 
be  felt,  and  if  I  could  feci  gratitude,  I  would  now  thank  you.  But 
I  cannot — I  have  never  desired  your  good  opinion,  and  you  have 
certainly  bestowed  it  most  unwillingly.  I  am  sorry  to  have  occa- 
sioned pain  to  any  one.  It  lias  been  most  unconsciously  done,  how- 
ever, and  I  hope  will  be  of  short  duration.  The  feelings  which, 
you  tell  me,  have  long  prevented  the  acknowledgment  of  your 
regard,  can  have  little  difficulty  in  overcoming  it  after  this  explana- 
tion.' 

"  Mr.  Darcy,  who  was  leaning  against  the  mantelpiece  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  her  face,  seemed  to  catch  her  words  with  no  less 
resentment  than  surprise.  His  complexion  became  pale  with  anger, 
and  the  disturbance  of  his  mind  was  visible  in  every  feature.  He 
was  struggling  for  the  appearance  of  composure,  and  would  not 
open  his  lips  till  he  believed  himself  to  have  attained  it.  The  pause 
was  to  Elizabeth's  feelings  dreadful.  At  length,  in  a  voice  of  forced 
calmness,  he  said — 

" '  And  this  is  all  the  reply  which  I  am  to  have  the  honour  of 
expecting  1  I  might,  perhaps,  wish  to  be  informed  why,  with  so 
little  endeavonr  at  civility,  I  am  thus  rejected.  But  it  is  of  small 
importance.' 

"  '  I  might  as  well  inquire,'  replied  she,  '  why  with  so  evident  a 
design  of  offending  and  insulting  me,  you  chose  to  tell  me  that  you 
liked  me  against  your  will,  against  your  reason,  and  even  against 
your  character  ?  Was  not  this  some  excuse  for  incivility,  if  I  wan 
uncivil  ?  But  I  have  other  provocations.  You  know  I  have.  Had 
not  my  own  feelings  decided  against  you — had  they  been  indifferent, 
or  had  they  even  been  favourable,  do  you  think  that  any  con- 
sideration would  tempt  me  to  accept  the  man  wlio  has  been  the 
means  of  ruining,  perhaps  for  ever,  the  happiness  of  a  beloved 
sister  ? ' 

"As  she  pronounced  these  words,  Mr.   Darcy  changed  colour; 


JANE  AUSTEN.  78 

but  the  emotion  was  short,  and  he  listened  without  attempting  to 
interrupt  her  while  she  continued — 

"  '  I  have  every  reason  in  the  world  to  think  ill  of  you.  No  motive 
can  excuse  the  unjust  and  ungenerous  part  you  acted  there.  You 
dare  not,  you  cannot  deny  that  you  have  been  the  principal,  if  not 
the  only  means  of  dividing  them  from  each  other, — of  exposing  one 
to  the  censure  of  the  world  for  caprice  and  instability,  the  other  to 
its  derision  for  disappointed  hopes,  and  involving  them  both  in 
misery  of  the  acutest  kind.' 

"  She  paused,  and  saw  with  no  slight  indignation  that  he  was 
listening  with  an  air  which  proved  him  wholly  unmoved  by  any 
feeling  of  remorse.  He  even  looked  at  her  with  a  smile  of  affected 
incredulity. 

"  '  Can  you  deny  that  you  have  done  it?  '  she  repeated. 

"With  assumed  tranquillity  he  then  replied,  'I  have  no  wish  of 
denying  that  I  did  everything  in  my  power  to  separate  my  friend 
from  your  sister,  or  that  I  rejoice  in  my  success.  Towards  him  I 
have  been  kinder  than  towards  myself.' 

"Elizabeth  disdained  the  appearance  of  noticing  this  civil 
reflection,  but  its  meaning  did  not  escape,  nor  was  it  likely  to  con- 
ciliate her. 

"  '  But  it  is  not  merely  this  affair,'  she  continued,  'on  which  my 
dislike  is  founded.  Long  before  it  had  taken  place,  my  opinion  of 
you  was  decided.  Your  character  was  unfolded  in  the  recital 
which  I  received  many  months  ago  from  Mr.  Wickham.  On  this 
subject,  what  can  you  have  to  say  ?  In  what  imaginary  act  of 
friendship  can  you  here  defend  yourself?  or  under  what  mis- 
representations can  you  here  impose  upon  others  ? ' 

"  '  You  take  an  eager  interest  in  that  gentleman's  concerns,'  said 
Darcy,  in  a  less  tranquil  tone,  and  with  a  heightened  colour. 

"  '  Who  that  knows  what  his  misfortunes  have  been,  can  help 
feeling  an  interest  in  him  ? ' 

"'His  misfortunes!'  repeated  Darcy,  contemptuously;  'yes, 
his  misfortunes  have  been  great  indeed.' 

"'And  of  your  infliction,'  cried  Elizabeth,  with  energy.  'You 
have  reduced  him  to  his  present  state  of  poverty — comparative 
poverty.  You  have  withheld  the  advantages  which  you  must  know 
to  have  been  designed  for  him.     You  have  deprived  the  best  year.s 


74  LIFE  OF 

of  his  life  of  that  independence  which  was  no  less  his  due  than  his 
desert.  You  have  done  all  this  !  and  yet  you  can  treat  the  mention 
of  his  misfoitunes  with  contempt  and  ridicule.' 

"  '  And  this,'  cried  Darcy,  as  he  walked  with  quick  steps  across 
the  room,  '  is  your  opinion  of  me  I  This  is  the  estimation  in  which 
you  hold  me  !  I  thank  you  for  explaining  it  so  fully.  My  faults, 
according  to  this  calculation,  are  heavy  indeed  1  But  perhaps,' 
added  he,  stopping  in  his  walk,  and  turning  towards  her,  '  these 
offences  might  have  been  overlooked,  had  not  your  pride  been  hurt 
by  my  honest  confession  of  the  scruples  that  had  long  prevented  my 
forming  any  serious  design.  These  bitter  accusations  might  have 
been  suppressed,  had  I,  with  greater  policy,  concealed  my  struggles, 
and  flattered  you  into  the  belief  of  my  being  impelled  by  unqualified, 
unalloyed  inclination  ;  by  reason,  by  reflection,  by  everything. 
But  disguise  of  eveiy  sort  is  my  abhorrence.  Nor  am  I  ashamed  of 
the  feelings  I  related.  They  were  natural  and  just..  Could  j'ou 
expect  me  to  rejoice  in  the  inferiority  of  your  connections? — to 
congratulate  myself  on  the  hope  of  relations  whose  condition  in  life 
is  so  decidedly  beneath  my  own  ? ' 

"  Elizabeth  felt  herself  growing  more  angry  every  moment;  yet  she 
tried  to  the  utmost  to  speak  with  composure  when  she  said — 

"  'You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Darcy,  if  you  suppose  that  the  mode 
of  your  declaration  affected  me  in  any  other  way,  than  as  it  spared 
me  the  concern  which  I  might  have  felt  in  refusing  you,  had  you 
behaved  in  a  more  gentlemanlike  manner.' 

"  She  saw  him  start  at  this,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  she  con- 
tinued— 

" '  You  could  not  have  made  me  the  offer  of  your  hand  in  any 
possible  way  that  would  have  tempted  me  to  accept  it.' 

"Again  his  astonishment  was  obvious;  and  he  looked  at  her 
\\\\\\  an  expression  of  mingled  incredulity  and  mortification.  She 
went  on  : 

"  '  From  the  very  beginning — from  the  fust  moment,  I  may 
almost  say— of  my  acquaintance  with  you,  your  manners  impressing 
me  with  the  fullest  belief  of  your  arrogance,  your  conceit,  and  your 
selfish  disdain  of  the  feelings  of  others,  were  such  as  to  form  that 
groundwork  of  disapprobation,  on  which  succeeding  events  have 
built  so  immovable  a  dislike  ;  and  I  had  not  known  you  a  mouth 


JANE  AUSTEN.  75 

before  I  felt  that,  you  were  the  last  man  in  the  world  whom  I  could 
ever  be  prevailed  on  to  marry.' 

"  '  You  have  said  quite  enough,  madam.  I  perfectly  compre- 
hend your  feelings,  and  have  now  only  to  be  ashamed  of  what  my 
own  have  been.  Forgive  me  for  having  taken  up  so  much  of  your 
time,  and  accept  my  best  wishes  for  your  health  and  happiness.' 

"  And  with  these  words  he  hastily  left  the  room,  and  Elizabeth 
heard  him  the  next  moment  open  the  front  door  and  quit  the 
house." 

Next  morning  Darcy  waylays  Elizabeth  in  her  walk, 
and  puts  into  her  hand  a  long  letter,  in  which,  without 
renewing  his  addresses,  he  defends  himself  against  the 
two  charges  of  cruelly  wrecking  her  sister's  happiness, 
and  of  having  wronged  Wickham.  As  to  the  first,  he 
admits  that  he  interfered,  but  he  pleads  ignorance  of  any 
strong  attachment  on  the  part  of  Jane.  To  the  second 
charge  he  replies  by  giving  the  true  version  of  the  story, 
which  shows  that  he  had  behaved  as  well  as  possible  to 
Wickham,  and  that  Wickham  was  an  ungrateful  scoun- 
drel. In  justifying  his  interference  between  Bingley  and 
Jane,  he  is  led  to  make  some  stringent  remarks  on  the 
objectionable  members  of  the  Bennet  family,  though  he 
compliments  Jane  and  Elizabeth  by  contrast.  The  letter, 
though  read  at  first  with  aversion  and  incredulity,  tells  in 
the  end.  Elizabeth  feels  that  she  has  been  rash  in 
believing  Wickham.  She  also  feels  that  though  Darcy's 
mode  of  proffering  his  hand,  his  avowal  of  the  struggle 
undergone  by  his  pride,  and  his  assurance  of  being 
accepted,  were  offensive,  she  may  be  proud  of  having 
won  and  kept  the  affection  of  such  a  man. 

All  now  seems  over,  but.  of  course  is  not.     Elizabeth 
is  on  a  tour  in  Derbyshire  with  her  worthy  uncle  and 


76  LIFE  OF 

aunt,  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Gardiner.  They  find  themselves 
near  Pemberley,  Darcy's  country  seat,  and  as  it  is  a  show 
place,  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Gardiner  go  to  see  it.  Elizabeth 
accompanies  them,  after  duly  assuring  herself  that  its 
master  is  not  at  home.  It  is  a  noble  mansion  with  a 
beautiful  park  and  grounds.  Elizabeth  cannot  help 
reflecting  that  she  might  have  been  mistress  of  it.  They 
talk  to  the  housekeeper,  an  old  servant,  who  gives  them 
a  glowing  account  of  her  master's  kindness  of  heart,  the 
affection  felt  for  him  by  all  about  him,  and  his  excellence 
as  a  brother,  painting  him  exactly  the  reverse  of  that 
which  he  had  been  painted  by  Wickham.  Suddenly,  to 
Elizabeth's  confusion,  Darcy  himself  appears,  having 
been  brought  home  by  business  a  day  before  he  was 
expected,  and  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  his  party,  which 
consists  of  Bingley  and  his  two  sisters.  The  meeting  is 
awkward  at  first,  but  presently  it  appears  that  Darcy  is  a 
changed  man.  All  his  haughtiness  and  coldness  have 
departed.  He  is  courtesy  itself;  does  with  the  utmost 
grace  the  honours  of  his  beautiful  and  sumptuous  home ; 
begs  to  be  introduced  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gardiner,  and 
pays  them  the  greatest  attention,  though  they  are  com- 
mercial. He  invites  them  to  Pemberley.  He  takes  his 
sister  Georgiana  over  to  call  on  them  and  Elizabeth  at  their 
inn.  Bingley  also  is  most  cordial.  Mrs.  Gardiner  sees  the 
direction  in  which  matters  are  tending.  Mrs.  Hurst  and 
Miss  Bingley  see  it  too,  and  renew  their  malicious  efforts, 
but  without  success.  Miss  Bingley  at  last  gets  her 
quietus.  She  reminds  Darcy  of  his  having  once  said  that 
he  should  no  more  think  of  calling  Elizabeth  a  beauty 
than  of  calling  her  mother  a  wit,  adding,  "  but  afterwards 


JANE  AUSTEN.  1*1 

she  seemed  to  improve  on  you,  and  I  believe  you  thought 
her  rather  pretty  at  one  time."  "  Yes,"  is  Darcy's  reply, 
"  but  that  was  only  when  I  first  knew  her,  for  it  is  many 
months  since  I  have  considered  her  one  of  the  hand- 
somest women  of  my  acquaintance."  Georgiana  Darcy 
seconds  by  her  amiability  the  advances  of  her  brother, 
and  her  shyness  suggests  that  he  also  may  sometimes 
have  been  only  shy  when  he  appeared  to  be  proud. 

But  the  sky  of  love  so  rapidly  brightening  is  once 
more  overcast.  News  arrives  that  the  feather-headed 
Lydia  Bennet  has  run  away  with  Wickham  from 
Brighton,  where  his  regiment  has  been  encamped  and 
she  has  been  staying.  An  avalanche  of  affliction  and 
shame  has  fallen  upon  the  Bennet  family,  the  head  of 
which  now  sees  with  anguish  how  faulty  he  has  been  in  not 
looking  to  the  conduct  of  his  wife  and  daughters.  This 
seems  a  fatal  blow.  To  Darcy's  personal  fastidiousness 
and  family  pride  the  Bennet  connection  will  now  be 
more  intolerable  than  ever.  The  contrary  is  the  result. 
Darcy's  pride  has  been  thoroughly  subdued  by  love, 
and  the  disaster  which  has  befallen  the  family  of  the 
object  of  his  attachment  only  serves  to  call  forth  the 
deeper  and  nobler  part  of  his  character.  Without  dis- 
closing his  intentions  he  hastens  to  London,  where 
Wickham  and  Lydia  have  concealed  themselves,  uses  his 
knowledge  of  Wickham 's  previous  connections  and 
habits  to  discover  their  hiding-place,  persuades  Wick- 
ham to  make  Lydia  an  honest  woman,  pays  his  debts, 
undertakes  to  buy  him  a  commission,  and,  to  crown  all, 
bows  his  pride  so  far  as  to  be  present  at  the  marriage. 
All  this  he  does,  without  letting  the  Bennets  know  it, 


78  LIFE  OF 

unaer  cover  of  Mr.  Gardiner's  name,  but  the  truth  is 
revealed  to  Ehzabeth  by  Lydia,  and  produces  its  natural 
impression  on  her  mind.  Rumours  having  reached  Lady 
Catherine  de  Bourgh  of  an  engagement  between  her 
nephew  and  Ehzabeth,  that  dragonness  comes  thunder- 
ing to  Longbourn,  pounces  on  Elizabeth,  draws  her  to  a 
private  interview,  and  threatens  the  daring  girl  with  her 
high  displeasure  if  she  presumes  to  think  of  the  hand  of 
the  man  destined  for  Miss  de  Bourgh.  Elizabeth  com- 
ports herself  with  firmness  and  discretion,  and  Lady 
Catherine  seals  the  doom  of  her  own  ambition  by 
reporting  to  Darcy  that  Elizabeth  had  refused  to 
renounce  him.  After  this  all  goes  smoothly.  Lirst 
Bingley  proposes  to  Jane.  Then  Darcy  proposes  to 
Elizabeth  in  a  strain  very  different  from  that  in  which 
he  made  his  first  offer.  The  curtain  falls  amidst  the 
comical  transports  of  Mrs.  Bennet  over  the  marriage 
of  three  daughters,  and  Mr.  Bennet,  after  giving  his 
consent  in  his  library  to  the  marriage  of  Elizabeth  with 
Darcy,  only  remarks  that  if  there  are  other  young  men 
who  want  to  marry  his  daughters,  he  is  at  leisure  and 
they  may  come  in. 

Lord  Brabourne  says  that  Darcy  is  the  only  one  of  his 
great-aunt's  heroes  for  whom  he  feels  much  regard. 
Darcy's  character  has  certainly  more  than  any  other  in 
the  set  the  "  intricacy  "  which  Jane  Austen  thought  the 
great  source  of  interest.  Underlying  his  unamiable 
exterior,  he  has  generous  qualities  which  his  love  of 
Elizabeth  brings  out ;  and  that  her  first  rejection  of 
him,  instead  of  estranging,  cures  him  of  his  pride  is  a 
proof  of  the  real  depth  and  nobleness  of  his  character. 


JANE  A  USTEN.  79 

His  pride  and  self-love,  however,  in  the  early  scenes  are 
somewhat  overdone.  No  well-bred  man  would  behave 
as  he  does  in  the  Meryton  ball-room.  Nobody  but  a 
puppy  would  reply  when  he  was  asked  to  let  himself  be 
introduced  to  a  young  lady,  "She  is  tolerable,  but  not 
handsome  enough  to  tempt  me  ;  and  I  am  in  no  humour 
at  present  to  give  consequence  to  young  ladies  who  are 
slighted  by  other  men."  No  man  of  sense  would  say  of 
himself,  especially  to  a  woman  with  whom  he  had  only 
just  become  acquainted,  "I  have  faults  enough,  but  they 
are  not,  I  hope,  of  the  understanding.  My  temper  I  dare 
not  vouch  for.  It  is,  I  believe,  too  little  yielding — cer- 
tainly too  little  for  the  convenience  of  the  world.  I 
cannot  forget  the  follies  and  vices  of  others  as  soon  as  I 
ought,  nor  their  offences  against  myself.  My  feelings 
are  not  puffed  about  with  every  attempt  to  move  them. 
My  temper  would  perhaps  be  called  resentful.  My  good 
opinion  once  lost  is  lost  for  ever."  Such  might  be  the 
thoughts  of  a  man  brought  up  in  isolation  by  an  idolizing 
household  and  with  exaggerated  ideas  of  his  personal 
and  family  consequence,  and  they  might  reveal  them- 
selves in  his  conduct,  but  they  would  not  escape  his 
lips. 

Of  the  minor  characters  by  far  the  most  amusing  is 
Mr.  Collins,  with  his  solemn  priggishness  and  his 
worship  of  his  patroness,  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh. 
Most  exquisite  is  the  scene  in  which  he  makes  Elizabeth 
an  offer  of  his  hand. 


"  Mrs.  Bennet  and  Kitty  walked  off,  and  as  soon  as  they  were 
gone  Mr.  Collins  began. 


80  LIFE  OF 

"  '  Believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Elizabeth,  that  your  modesty,  so  far 
from  doing  you  any  disservice,  rather  adds  to  your  other  perfections. 
You  would  have  been  less  amiable  in  my  eyes  had  there  not  been 
this  little  unwillingness  ;  but  allow  me  to  assure  you,  that  I  have 
your  respected  mother's  permission,  for  this  address.  You  can 
hardly  doubt  the  purport  of  my  discourse,  however  your  natural 
delicacy  may  lead  you  to  dissemble  ;  my  attentions  have  been  too 
marked  to  be  mistaken.  Almost  as  soon  as  I  entered  the  house,  I 
singled  you  out  as  the  companion  of  my  future  life.  But  before  I 
am  run  away  with  by  my  feelings  on  this  subject,  perhaps  it  will  be 
advisable  for  me  to  state  my  reasons  for  manning — and  moreover 
for  coming  into  Hertfordshire  with  the  design  of  selecting  a  wife,  as 
I  certainly  did.' 

"The  idea  of  Mr.  Collins,  with  all  his  solemn  composure,  being 
run  away  with  by  his  feelings,  made  Elizabeth  so  near  laughing, 
that  she  could  not  use  the  short  pause  he  allowed  in  any  attempt  to 
stop  him  farther,  and  he  continued  : — 

"  '  My  reasons  for  marrying  are,  first,  that  I  think  it  a  right  thing 
for  every  clergyman  in  easy  circumstances  (like  myself)  to  set  the 
example  of  matrimony  in  his  parish  ;  secondly,  that  I  am  convinced 
it  will  add  very  greatly  to  my  happiness  ;  and  thirdly — which  per- 
haps I  ought  to  have  mentioned  earlier — that  it  is  the  particular 
advice  and  recommendation  of  the  very  noble  lady  whom  I  have 
the  honour  of  calling  patroness.  Twice  has  she  condescended  to 
give  me  her  opinion  (unasked  too  !)  on  this  subject  ;  and  it  was  but 
the  very  Saturday  night  before  I  left  llunsford — between  our  pools 
at  quadrille,  while  Mrs.  Jenkinson  was  arranging  Miss  de  Bourgh's 
footstool,  that  she  said,  "Mr.  Collins,  you  must  marry.  A  clergy- 
man like  you  must  marry.  Choose  properly,  choose  a  gentlewoman 
for  my  sake  ;  and  for  your  own,  let  her  be  an  active,  useful  sort  of 
person,  not  brought  up  high,  but  able  to  make  a  small  income  go  a 
good  way.  This  is  my  advice.  Find  such  a  woman  as  soon  as  you 
can,  bring  her  to  llunsford,  and  I  will  visit  her."  Allow  me,  by  the 
way,  to  observe,  my  fair  cousin,  that  I  do  not  reckon  the  notice  and 
kindness  of  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh  as  among  the  least  of  the 
advantages  in  my  power  to  offer.  You  will  find  her  manners  beyond 
anything  I  can  describe  ;  and  your  wit  and  vivacity,  I  think,  must 
be  acceptable  to  her,  especially  when  tempered  with  the  silence  and 


JANE  A  USTEN.  81 

respect  which  her  rank  will  inevitably  excite.  Thus  much  for  my 
general  intention  in  favour  of  matrimony  ;  it  remains  to  be  told  why 
my  views  were  directed  to  Longbourn  instead  of  my  own  neigh- 
bourhood, where  I  assure  you  there  are  many  amiable  young  women. 
But  the  fact  is,  that  being,  as  I  am,  to  inherit  this  estate  after  the 
death  of  your  honoured  father  (who,  however,  may  live  many  years 
longer),  I  could  not  satisfy  myself  without  resolving  to  choose  a 
wife  from  among  his  daughters,  that  the  loss  to  them  might  be  as 
little  as  possible,  when  the  melancholy  event  takes  place — which, 
however,  as  I  have  already  said,  may  not  be  for  several  years.  This 
has  been  my  motive,  my  fair  cousin,  and  I  flatter  myself  it  will  not 
sink  me  in  your  esteem.  And  now  nothing  remains  for  me  but  to 
assure  you  in  the  most  animated  language  of  the  violence  of  my 
affection.  To  fortune  I  am  perfectly  indifferent,  and  I  shall  make 
no  demand  of  that  nature  on  your  father,  since  I  am  well  aware 
that  it  could  not  be  complied  with  ;  and  that  one  thousand  pounds 
in  the  Four  Per  Cents,  which  will  not  be  yours  till  after  your  mother's 
decease,  is  all  that  you  may  ever  be  entitled  to.  On  that  head, 
therefore,  I  shall  be  uniformly  silent ;  and  you  may  assure  yourself 
that  no  ungenerous  reproach  shall  ever  pass  my  lips  when  we  are 
married.' 

"  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  interrupt  him  now. 
"  '  You  are  too  hasty,  sir,'  she  cried.  '  You  forget  that  I  have 
made  no  answer.  Let  me  do  it  without  further  loss  of  time. 
Accept  my  thanks  for  the  compliment  you  are  paying  me.  I  am 
very  sensible  of  the  honour  of  your  proposals,  but  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  do  otherwise  than  decline  them.' 

"  '  I  ani  not  now  to  learn,'  replied  Mr.  Collins,  with  a  formal 
wave  of  the  hand,  '  that  it  is  usual  with  young  ladies  to  reject  the 
addresses  of  the  man  whom  they  secretly  mean  to  accept,  when  he 
first  applies  for  their  favour ;  and  that  sometimes  the  refusal  is 
repeated  a  second  or  even  a  third  time.  I  am  therefore  by  no 
means  discouraged  by  what  you  have  just  said,  and  shall  hope  to 
lead  you  to  the  altar  ere  long.' 

"  '  Upon  my  word,  sir,'  cried  Elizabeth,  '  your  hope  is  rather  an 
extraordinary  one  after  my  declaration.  I  do  assure  you  that  I  am 
not  one  of  those  young  ladies  (if  such  young  ladies  there  are)  who 
are  so  daring  as  to  risk  their  happiness  on  the  chance  of  being  asked 


82  LIFE  OF 

a  second  time.  I  am  "perfectly  serious  in  my  refusal.  You  could 
not  make  me  happy,  and  I  am  convinced  that  I  am  the  last  woman 
in  the  world  who  would  make  you  so.  Nay,  were  your  friend  Lady 
Catherine  to  know  me,  I  am  persuaded  she  would  find  me  in  every 
respect  ill-cjualified  for  the  situation.' 

"'Were  it  certain  that  Lady  Catherine  would  think  so,'  said 
Mr.  Collins  very  gravely — '  but  I  cannot  imagine  that  her  ladyship 
would  at  all  disapprove  of  you.  And  you  may  be  certain  that 
when  I  have  the  honour  of  seeing  her  again,  I  shall  speak  in 
the  highest  terms  of  your  modesty,  economy,  and  other  amiable 
qualifications.' 

'"Indeed,  Mr.  Collins,  all  praise  of  me  will  be  unnecessary. 
You  must  give  me  leave  to  judge  for  myself,  and  pay  me  the  com- 
pliment of  believing  what  I  say.  I  wish  you  very  happy  and  very 
rich,  and  by  refusing  your  hand,  do  all  in  my  power  to  prevent  your 
being  otherwise.  In  making  me  the  offer,  you  must  have  satisfied 
the  delicacy  of  your  feelings  with  regard  to  my  family,  and  may 
take  possession  of  Longbourn  estate  whenever  it  falls,  without  any 
self-reproach.  This  matter  may  be  considered,  therefore,  as  finally 
settled.'  And  rising  as  she  thus  spoke,  she  would  have  quitted  the 
room,  had  not  Mr.  Collins  thus  addressed  her  : 

"  '  When  I  do  myself  the  honour  of  speaking  to  you  next  on  this 
subject,  I  shall  hope  to  receive  a  more  favourable  answer  than  you 
have  now  given  me  ;  though  I  am  far  from  accusing  you  of  cruelty 
at  present,  because  I  know  it  to  be  the  established  custom  of  your 
sex  to  reject  a  man  on  the  first  application,  and  perhaps  you  have 
even  now  said  as  much  to  encourage  my  suit  as  would  be  consistent 
with  the  true  delicacy  of  the  female  character.' 

'"Really,  Mr.  Collins,'  cried  Eliz.abeth,  with  some  warmth, 
'you  puzzle  me  exceedingly.  If  what  I  have  hitherto  said  can 
appear  to  you  in  the  form  of  encouragement,  I  know  not  how  to 
express  my  refusal  in  such  a  way  as  may  convince  you  of  its 
being  one.' 

"  '  You  must  give  me  leave  to  flatter  myself,  my  dear  cousin,  that 
your  refusal  of  my  addresses  arc  merely  words  of  course.  My 
reasons  for  believing  it  .are  briefly  these  : — It  does  not  appear  to  me 
that  my  hand  is  unworthy  your  acceptance,  or  that  the  establishment 
I  can  offer  would  be  any  other  than  highly  desirable.     My  situation 


JANE  AUSTEN.  83 

in  life,  my  connections  with  the  family  of  De  Bourgh,  and  my 
relationship  to  your  own,  are  circumstances  highly  in  my  favour  ; 
and  you  should  take  it  into  further  consideration,  that  in  spite  of 
your  manifold  attractions,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  another 
offer  of  marriage  may  ever  be  made  you.  Your  portion  is  unhappily 
so  small,  that  it  will  in  all  likelihood  undo  the  effects  of  your  love- 
liness and  amiable  qualifications.  As  I  must  therefore  conclude 
that  you  are  not  serious  in  your  rejection  of  me,  I  shall  choose  to 
attribute  it  to  your  wish  of  increasing  my  love  by  suspt  nse,  accord- 
ing to  the  usual  practice  of  elegant  females.' 

"  '  I  do  assure  you,  sir,  that  I  have  no  pretension  whatever  to 
that  kind  of  elegance  which  consists  in  tormenting  a  respectable 
man.  I  would  rather  be  paid  the  compliment  of  being  believed  to 
be  sincere.  I  thank  you  again  and  again  for  the  honour  you  have 
done  me  in  your  proposals,  but  to  accept  them  is  absolutely  impos- 
sible. My  feelings  in  every  respect  forbid  it.  Can  I  speak  plainer? 
Do  not  consider  me  now  as  an  elegant  female,  intending  to 
plague  you,  but  as  a  rational  creature,  speaking  the  truth  from 
her  heart.' 

"  '  You  are  uniformly  charming  !  '  cried  he,  with  an  air  of  awk- 
ward gallantry  ;  '  and  I  am  persuaded  that  when  sanctioned  by  the 
express  authority  of  both  your  excellent  parents,  my  proposals  will 
not  fail  of  being  acceptable.'  " 

Charming,  too,  is  Mr.  Collins's  letter  of  condolence 
to  Mr.  Bennet  on  the  distress  and  disgrace  which  had 
been  brought  on  the  Longbourn  family  by  Lydia's  elope- 
ment with  Wickham. 

"  My  dear  Sir, — I  feel  myself  called  upon,  by  our  relation- 
ship, and  my  situation  in  life,  to  condole  with  you  on  the  grievous 
affliction  you  are  now  suffering  under,  of  which  we  were  yesterday 
informed  by  a  letter  from  Hertfordshire.  Be  assured,  my  dear  sir, 
that  Mrs.  Collins  and  myself  sincerely  sympathize  with  you,  and 
all  your  respectable  family,  in  your  present  distress,  which  must  be 
of  the  bitterest  kind,  because  proceeding  from  a  cause  which  no 
time  can  remove.     No  arguments  shall   be  wanting   on  my  part 


84  LIFE  OF 

that  can  alleviate  so  severe  a  misfortune — or  that  may  comfort  you, 
under  a  circumstance  that  must  be  of  all  others  most  afflicting  to  a 
parent's  mind.  The  death  of  your  daughter  would  have  been  a 
blessing  in  comjiarison  of  this.  And  it  is  the  more  to  be  lamented, 
because  there  is  reason  to  suppose,  as  my  dear  Charlotte  informs 
me,  that  this  licentiousness  of  behaviour  in  your  daughter  has  pro- 
ceeded from  a  faulty  degree  of  indulgence  ;  though,  at  the  same 
time,  for  the  consolation  of  yourself  and  Mrs.  Bennet,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  her  own  disposition  must  be  naturally  bad,  or  she 
could  not  be  guilty  of  such  an  enormity  at  so  early  an  age.  How- 
soever that  may  be,  you  are  grievously  to  be  pitied  ;  in  which 
opinion  I  am  not  only  joined  by  Mrs.  Collins,  but  likewise  by  Lady 
Catherine  and  her  daughter,  to  whom  I  have  related  the  affair. 
They  agree  with  me  in  apprehending  that  this  false  step  in  one 
daughter  will  be  injurious  to  the  fortunes  of  all  the  others  ;  for  who, 
as  Lady  Catherine  herself  condescendingly  says,  will  connect  them- 
selves with  such  a  family?  And  this  consideration  leads  me  more- 
over to  reflect,  with  augmented  satisfaction,  on  a  certain  event  of 
last  November ;  for  had  it  been  otherwise,  I  must  have  been 
involved  in  all  your  sorrow  and  disgrace.  Let  me  advise  you  then, 
my  dear  sir,  to  console  yourself  as  much  as  possible,  to  throw  off 
your  unworthy  child  from  your  affection  for  ever,  and  leave  her  to 
reap  the  fruits  of  her  own  heinous  offence. 

"  I  am,  dear  Sir,  t^c,  &c." 

Mr.  Collins  has  been  justly  described  as  the  repre- 
sentative, under  a  somewhat  altered  form,  of  tlic  servile 
domestic  chaplain  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  was 
a  possible  character  in  Jane  Austen's  day.  Perhaps  a 
vestige  of  him  might  be  found  even  now. 

Mr.  Bennet's  dry  humour  is  another  great  source  of 
fun.  The  scene  in  which  he  tantalizes  his  wife  and 
daughters  about  calling  at  Nelherfield  is  a  happy  opening 
of  the  talc.  "  Lizzy,"  he  says  to  his  daughter,  when  her 
opinion  has  turned  out  wiser  than  his  own,  "  I  bear  you 
no  ill-will  for  being  justified  in  your  advice  to  me  last 


JANE  AUSTEN.  85 

May,  which,  considering  the  event,  shows  some  greatness 
of  mind."  His  wife  says  plaintively  that  after  his  death 
she  will  be  turned  out  of  her  house  by  Mr.  Collins  as  the 
heir  in  tail,  "  My  dear,"  he  replies,  "  do  not  give  way  to 
such  gloomy  thoughts.  Let  us  hope  for  better  things. 
Let  us  flatter  ourselves  that  /  may  be  the  survivor."  He 
is  excellent  in  playing  off  Mr.  Collins.  Mr.  Collins  asks 
whether  Miss  de  Bourgh  has  been  presented. 

"  '  I  do  not  remember  her  name  among  the  ladies  at  Court.' 

"  '  Ilcr  iudilFerent  state  of  health  unhappily  prevents  her  being  in 
town;  and  by  that  means,  as  I  told  Lady  Catherine  myself  one  day, 
has  deprived  the  British  court  of  its  brightest  ornament.  Her  lady- 
ship seemed  pleased  with  the  idea  ;  and  you  may  imagine  that  I  am 
happy  on  every  occasion  to  offer  those  little  delicate  compliments 
which  are  always  acceptable  to  ladies.  I  have  more  than  once 
observed  to  Lady  Catherine,  that  her  charming  daughter  seemed 
born  to  be  a  duchess,  and  that  the  most  elevated  rank,  instead  of 
giving  her  consequence,  would  be  adorned  by  her. — These  are  the 
kind  of  little  things  that  please  her  ladyship,  and  it  is  a  sort  of 
attention  which  I  consider  myself  peculiarly  bound  to  pay.' 

"  '  You  judge  very  properly,'  said  Mr.  Bennet,  '  and  it  is  happy 
for  you  that  you  possess  the  talent  of  flattering  with  delicacy.  May 
I  ask  whether  these  pleasing  attentions  proceed  from  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  or  are  the  result  of  previous  study  ? ' 

"  '  They  arise  chiefly  from  what  is  passing  at  the  time,  and 
though  I  sometimes  amuse  myself  with  suggesting  and  arranging 
such  little  elegant  compliments  as  may  be  adapted  to  ordinary 
occasions,  I  always  wish  to  give  them  as  unstudied  an  air  as 
possible. ' 

"Mr.  Bennet's  expectations  were  fully  answered.  His  cousin 
was  as  absurd  as  he  had  hoped,  and  he  listened  to  him  with  the 
keenest  enjoyment,  maintaining  at  the  same  time  the  most  resolute 
composure  of  countenance,  and  except  in  an  occasional  glance  at 
Elizabeth,  requiring  no  partner  in  his  pleasure." 

Nor,  the  man's  character  being  a  compound  of  sense  and 


86  LIFE  OF 

weakness,  is  there  anything  unnatural  in  his  having  been 
caught  by  a  pretty  face,  and  married  a  woman  who 
cannot  be  a  companion  to  him,  and  from  whose  folly 
and  vulgarity  he  has  to  take  refuge  in  his  books.  If  she 
was  lively  and  forward,  he,  being  shy  and  a  recluse, 
would  probably  .be  cauglit  with  ease.  Certainly  Mrs. 
Ecnnet  is  an  extreme  example  of  her  class,  and  her 
silliness  does  sometimes  verge  pretty  closely  on  idiocy, 
as  when  she  flies  into  an  ecstasy  of  delight  over  the  by- 
no-means  triumphal  marriage  of  Lydia  with  Wickham, 
and  fancies  that  they  will  take  one  of  the  great  houses  in 
the  neighbourhood.  She  says  amusing  things,  however, 
in  her  way.  "  I  do  think  Mrs.  Long  is  as  good  a 
creature  as  ever  lived — and  her  nieces  are  very  pretty 
behaved  girls,  and  not  at  all  handsome.  I  like  them 
prodigiously." 

I'here  is  no  saying  exactly  what  persons  of  quality  may 
have  done  in  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh's  day.  But  in 
these  days  her  autocracy  would  be  difticult,  and  her 
dictatorial  insolence  would  scarcely  escajje  a  fall.  Her 
sudden  descent  with  all  her  terrors  to  prevent  Darcy's 
marriage  is  too  much  for  our  belief.  The  basis  of  the 
character,  however,  is  natural  enough;  and  the  dinner- 
party at  Rosings,  with  Mr.  Collins  acting  as  hierophant, 
is  very  good  fun.  After  all,  the  features  of  a  comic  mask 
must  be  a  little  exaggerated  for  the  stage. 

A  notable  though  very  subordinate  character  is 
Charlotte  Lucas.  She  is  a  good  sensible  girl,  worthy  to 
be  Elizabeth's  friend.  But  she  is  made  the  vehicle  of 
the  most  coarsely  practical  view  of  matrimony  as  a  pro- 
vision for  a  young  woman.     "  I  am  not  romantic,"  she 


JANE  AUSTEN.  87 

says ;  "  I  never  was.  I  ask  only  a  comfortable  home, 
and  considering  Mr.  Collins's  character,  connections, 
and  situation  in  life,  I  am  convinced  that  my  chance  of 
happiness  with  him  is  as  fair  as  most  people  can  boast  in 
entering  the  marriage  state."  Accordingly,  when  Eh'^a- 
beth  has  refused  Mr.  Collins,  Charlotte  accepts  him 
without  the  slightest  hesitation.  Mr.  Collins,  to  be  sure, 
was  neither  sensible  nor  agreeable ;  his  society  was  irk- 
some, and  his  attachment  to  her  must  be  imaginary.  But 
still  he  would  be  her  husband.  Without  thinking  highly 
either  of  men  or  of  matrimony,  marriage  liad  always 
been  her  object ;  it  was  the  only  honourable  provision 
for  educated  women  of  small  fortune,  and  however  un- 
certain of  giving  happiness,  must  be  their  pleasantest 
"preservation  from  want."  In  Charlotte's  philosophy 
"  happiness  in  marriage  is  entirely  a  matter  of  chance. 
If  the  dispositions  of  the  parties  are  ever  so  well  known 
to  each  other,  or  ever  so  similar  beforehand,  it  does  not 
advance  their  felicity  in  the  least.  They  always  continue 
to  grow  sufficiently  unlike  afterwards,  to  have  their  share 
of  vexations,  and  it  is  better  to  know  as  little  as  possible 
of  the  defects  of  the  person  with  whom  you  are  to  pass 
your  life."  What  is  the  result  of  Charlotte  Lucas's 
practical  application  of  her  own  theory?  It  is  such  as  to 
indicate  that  Jane  Austen  herself  was  unromantic,  but  at 
the  same  time  was  very  far  from  taking  the  same  view  of 
marriage  as  Charlotte  Lucas.  When  Elizabeth  visits  the 
Collinses  in  their  home,  she  finds  it  fitted  up  and  arranged 
with  a  neatness  and  consistency  of  which  she  gives 
Charlotte  all  the  credit.  "  When  Mr.  Collins  could  be 
forgotten,  there  was  really  a  great  air  of  comfort  through- 


88  LIFE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

out,  and  by  Charlotce's  evident  enjoyment  of  it  Elizabeth 
supposed  he  must  be  often  forgotten."  Charlotte  has 
chosen  her  sitting-room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  because 
if  it  had  a  livelier  look-out  Mr.  Collins  would  be  too 
much  there,  and  she  encourages  his  taste  for  gardening 
to  relieve  herself  of  his  society.  No  denunciation  of 
mercenary  marriage  or  effusion  of  romantic  sentiment 
could  have  taught  us  more  effectively  that  Charlotte's 
counsels  are  not  counsels  of  perfection.  Yet  under  the 
same  conditions,  probably,  the  same  measure  of  imperfect 
happiness  has  often  been  enjoyed.  Besides,  Charlotte 
could  not  choose  her  children  from  worldly  motives. 
If  she  became  a  mother,  her  state  may  have  been  not 
only  happier  but  higher  as  Mrs.  Collins  than  it  could 
have  been  had  she  remained  unmarried. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  O  ENSE  and  Sensibility  "  is  a  companion  to  "  Pride 
w3  and  Prejudice,"  running  somewhat  in  the  same 
line  of  invention  as  well  as  corresponding  in  title,  but 
inferior.  To  suppose  that  the  sisters  Jane  and  Cass- 
andra Austen  appear  as  characters  in  Jane's  novels  is 
absurd.  But  their  affection  turned  Jane's  thoughts  as  a 
novehst  in  the  direction  of  sisterly  love.  We  had  a 
pair  of  sisters  in  "Pride  and  Prejudice;"  we  have 
another  pair  in  "  Sense  and  Sensibility."  Ehnor  who 
is  Sense,  Marianne  who  is  Sensibility,  and  Margaret 
who  is  a  cypher,  are  the  daughters  of  Mrs.  Dashwood, 
the  second  wife  of  a  gentleman  who  at  his  death 
bequeathed  them  all  to  the  generosity  of  his  son  by 
his  first  wife,  and  the  heir  of  the  estate,  Mr.  John 
Dashwood.  The  generosity  of  Mr.  John  Dashwood  is 
very  limited,  while  that  of  his  wife,  who  governs  him,  is 
still  more  so.  Mrs.  Dashwood  and  her  daughters  leave 
their  old  home  and  go  to  live  in  Devonshire,  where  Sir 
John  Middleton,  an  old  friend,  has  provided  them  with 
a  cottage  close  to  his  own  place.  Elinor  carries  with 
her  an  attachment,  verging  apparently  on  an  engagement, 
to  Edward  Ferrars,  son  of  the  wealthy,  ambitious,  and 


90  LIFE  OB 

hard-hearted  Mrs.  Ferrars,  and  brother  of  Mrs.  John 
Dashwood,  a  young  man  for  whom  his  friends  have 
formed  great  hopes  of  distinction,  whicli  he  has  neither 
the  force  nor  the  desire  to  fulfil.  Marianne  finds  a 
lover  in  AVilloughby,  a  young  man  who  reminds  us  of 
Wickham  in  "Pride  and  Prejudice,"  both  in  his  power 
of  fascination  and  in  his  want  of  principle.  Into 
^Villoughby's  arms  she  rushes  with  the  impulsive  in- 
discretion of  a  wildly  romantic,  sentimental,  and  en- 
thusiastic girl.  Her  lover  is  dependent  on  the  favour 
of  a  wealthy  relative,  Mrs.  Smith,  as  Edward  Ferrars 
is  on  that  of  his  mother.  Another  man,  and  a  far 
worthier,  at  the  same  time  feels  the  charms  of 
Marianne's  beauty  and  of  her  warm  and  affectionate 
disposition.  But  Colonel  Brandon  is  thirty-seven,  and 
wears  flannel  waistcoats.  Moreover,  he  has  loved 
before,  and  the  romantic  Marianne  cannot  conceive 
the  possibility  of  a  second  love. 

Willoughby  is  Colonel  Brandon's  enemy,  and  tries  to 
jirejudice  the  sisters  against  him  with  the  same  wilfulness 
with  which  Wickham  laboured  to  prejudice  Elizabeth 
against  Darcy. 

"'Miss  Dashwood,'  cried  Willoughby,  'you  are  now  using  me 
unkindly.  You  are  endeavouring  to  disarm  me  by  reason,  and  to 
convince  me  against  my  will.  But  it  will  not  do.  You  shall  liiid 
me  as  stubborn  as  you  can  be  artful.  1  have  three  unanswerable 
reasons  for  disliking  Colonel  Ihandon  :  he  has  threatened  me  with 
rain  when  I  wanted  it  to  be  fine  ;  he  has  found  fault  with  the 
hanging  i^A  my  curricle  ;  and  I  cannot  persuade  him  to  buy  my 
brown  mare.  If  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to  you,  however,  to  be 
told,  that  I  believe  his  character  to  be  in  other  respects  irreproach- 
able, I  am  ready  to  confess  it.     And  in  return  for  an  acknowledg- 


JANE  AUSTEN.  91 

ment  which  must  give  me  some  pain,   you  cannot  deny  me  the 
privilege  of  dislilving  him  as  much  as  ever.'" 


The  scene  is  partly  at  the  Cottage,  partly  at  the  house 
of  Sir  John  Middleton,  who  is  very  fond  of  company, 
of  match-making,  and  of  rather  coarse  jokes.  It  is  at 
Sir  John  Middleton's  that  the  sisters  meet  Colonel 
Brandon.  There  also  they  meet  Mrs.  Jennings,  Sir 
John  Middleton's  mother-in-law,  a  thoroughly  good- 
natured  though  thoroughly  vulgar  woman,  and  Lady 
Middleton's  sister,  Mrs.  Palmer,  with  her  husband. 
I\Irs.  Palmer  is  a  lady-like  Mrs.  Bennet,  and  her 
husband,  being  very  superior  to  her  in  sense,  feels, 
like  Mr.  Bennet,  that  he  has  married  beneath  him  in 
intellect,  and  shows  his  consciousness  of  it  in  a  much 
less  pleasant  and  amusing  way. 

Edward  Ferrars  appears  upon  the  scene,  stays  for  a 
week  and  is  very  loving,  but  departs  without  making  a 
declaration.  There  is  something  mysterious  and  dis- 
quieting about  his  conduct.  Presently  the  mystery  is 
cleared  up  with  a  vengeance.  The  two  Misses  Steele, 
relatives  of  Mrs.  Jennings,  come  to  stay  with  Sir  John 
Middleton,  and  the  younger  of  the  two.  Miss  Lucy 
Steele,  discloses  to  Elinor  in  confidence  the  astounding 
fact  that  she  is  secretly  engaged  to  Edward  Ferrars,  who 
fell-  in  love  with  her  when  he  was  very  young  and  while 
li\'ing  with  a  private  tutor.  The  bitterness  of  the  revela- 
tion is  enhanced  by  the  unworthiness  of  ISIiss  Lucy  Steele, 
who  is  low-bred,  low-minded,  illiterate  and  pert  in  the 
highest  degree.  The  possession  of  this  fatal  secret, 
with  all  the  pangs  and  mortification  which  it  entails,  is 


92  LIFE  OF 

the  sore  trial  of  Elinor's  sense  and  self-control  through 
which  she  passes  in  triumph. 

Meanwhile  Willoughby,  after  going  the  utmost  length 
short  of  a  declaration  in  his  love-making  with  Marianne, 
after  showing  her  the  house  which  is  to  be  hers,  buying 
the  horse  which  she  is  to  ride  there,  and  cutting  off  a 
lock  of  her  hair,  suddenly  takes  his  departure  on  a 
flimsy  pretext,  disquieting  the  sensible  Ehnor,  though 
not  the  enthusiastic  Marianne  or  the  confiding  Mrs. 
Dashwood.  Immediately  afterward,  Colonel  Brandon 
is  suddenly  called  away  from  the  house  of  Sir  John 
Middleton. 

Mrs.  Jennings  now  takes  Elinor  and  Marianne  to 
town,  where  Marianne  expects  to  find  her  Willoughby. 
Her  Willoughby  is  there,  but  instead  of  rushing  to  her 
feet  he  keeps  aloof,  takes  no  notice  of  her  letters  when 
she  impetuously  writes  to  him,  beyond  leaving  his  card, 
and  almost  cuts  her  when  they  meet  at  a  ball.  She  is  in 
uncontrollable  agonies  of  wounded  love,  which  her  more 
sensible  sister  vainly  labours  to  assuage.  The  crisis 
comes  when  it  transpires  that  Willoughby  is  about  to  be 
married  to  another  woman,  a  Miss  Grey,  with  fifty 
thousand  pounds.  He  announces  his  intention  to 
Marianne  in  a  revoltingly  heartless  letter.  Marianne  is 
incapable  of  subduing  or  disguising  her  emotions. 
Transports  of  passion  more  tragical  than  ever  ensue, 
while  Elinor,  with  her  own  sad  secret  buried  in  her 
heart,  displays  her  self-control  and  self-devotion  to  the 
highest  advantage  in  supporting  and  comforting  the 
weaker  vessel.  In  the  picture  of  Marianne's  sufferings, 
and  in   the  contrast  between   her  and  her  sister,   Jane 


JANE  AUSTEN.  93 

Austen  evidently  exerts  all  her  skill  and  her  knowledge 
of  the  female  heart.     Colonel  Brandon  now  comes  in 
with  a  history  of  Willoughby  and  an  exposure  of  his 
character.     Willoughby   has   seduced   a   girl    in   whom 
Colonel  Brandon  had  an   interest,  and   whom  scandal 
called   his   natural    daughter.     There  has  been  a  duel 
between   them   on   the   girl's   account.     But   even   this 
revelation  does   not  cure   Marianne.     She  shows  such 
want,   not  only  of  self-control,  but  of  common  sense, 
of  tact,  even  of  good  manners,  that  we  wonder  how  so 
superior  a  man  as  Colonel  Brandon  can  wish  to  have 
her  as  his  wife.     Her  intensely  affectionate  disposition 
(which,  however,  does  not  prevent  her  from  ungenerously 
misinterpreting  her  sister's  calmness)  and  her  beauty  are 
the   attractions.     Wish  to   have  Marianne  as  his  wife, 
however.    Colonel    Brandon    does,    and   of    course    he 
succeeds.     A  dangerous  illness  into  which  she  is  thrown 
by  a  romantic  walk  in  wet  grass  with  thin  shoes  is  the 
turning-point  in  their  joint  destiny,  and  proves  the  gate 
of  happiness.     Thus  "  Marianne  Dashwood  was  born  to 
an  extraordinary  fate.     She  was   born   to  discover  the 
falsehood  of   her  own  opinions,  and  to  counteract  by 
her  conduct  her  most  favourite  maxims.     She  was  born 
to  overcome  an  affection  formed  so  late  in  life  as  at 
seventeen,  and,  with  no   sentiment   superior  to   strong 
esteem   and   lively   friendship,   voluntarily   to   give   her 
hand   to   another ! — and    that   other   a   man    who   had 
suffered   no   less   than   herself    under  the   event   of   a 
former   attachment,   whom   two   years   before   she   had 
considered  too  old  to  be  married,  and  who  still  sought 
the  constitutional  safeguard  of  a  flannel  waistcoat." 


94  LIFE  OF 

The  course  of  Elinor's  true  love  is  also  duly  brought 
back  to  its  channel  and  made  to  run  smooth  to  matri- 
mony, though  by  what  we  cannot  help  tliinking  one  of 
the  strongest  measures  to  which  Destiny  has  ever 
resorted,  even  in  a  novel.  The  engagement  between 
Edward  Ferrars  and  Lucy  Steele  is  disclosed  l)y  the 
indiscretion  of  a  waiting-maid.  Mrs.  Ferrars  and  Mrs. 
John  Dashwood,  who  is  a  true  daughter  of  her  amiable 
mother,  are  thrown  into  fits  of  rage.  Edward  had  been 
destined  for  a  daughter  of  Lord  Morton  with  thirty 
thousand  pounds.  As  he  remains  loyal  to  his  lovt 
in  spite  of  his  mother's  reproaches  and  threats,  Mrs. 
Ferrars  disinherits  him,  and  somewhat  precipitately 
settles  the  estate  which  was  intended  for  him  on  his 
younger  brother,  Robert,  to  whom  she  also  thinks  of 
transferring  the  hand  and  fortune  of  Miss  Morton,  an 
arrangement  to  which  it  is  assumed  that  Miss  Morton 
will  readily  consent.  Heigh  presto  !  Robert  turns 
round,  and  having  the  property  now  settled  on  him,  so 
that  he  can  defy  his  mother's  wrath,  cuts  out  his  brother 
in  the  affection  of  Lucy  Steele  and  carries  her  off,  she 
being  nothing  loath  to  exchange  her  disinherited  lover 
for  one  who  had  become  securely  possessed  of  a  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year.  Edward,  his  honour  being  thus 
released,  happy  in  his  loss,  turns  at  once  to  his  real  love. 
Overwhelmed,  of  course,  by  the  second  catastroi)he  of 
her  ambition,  Mrs.  Ferrars  partly  relents  toward  P^vdward 
and  settles  on  him  ten  thousand  pounds,  which,  with  a 
benefice  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year  given  him 
by  Colonel  Brandon,  and  for  the  sake  of  which  he  takes 
Orders,  makes  a  future  sufficient  for  Edward  and  Elinor 


JANE  A  USTEN.  -        95 

to  marry  on.  "  Between  Barton  (where  Mrs.  Dashwood 
lived)  and  Delaford  (where  both  the  married  couples 
lived)  there  was  that  constant  communication  which 
strong  family  affection  would  naturally  dictate;  and 
among  the  merits  and  happiness  of  Elinor  and 
Marianne  let  it  not  be  ranked  as  the  least  considerable 
that  though  sisters,  and  living  almost  within  sight  of 
each  other,  they  could  live  without  disagreement  between 
themselves  or  producing  coldness  between  their  hus- 
bands." This  is  one  of  the  passages  of  Jane  Austen's 
novels  in  reading  which  we  must  be  on  our  guard 
against  taking  playful  irony  for  cynicism.  A  member 
herself  of  a  most  united  family,  she  could  not  really 
think  it  difficult  for  two  sisters  and  their  husbands  to 
live  near  each  other  without  quarrelling. 

A  strange,  not  to  say  extravagant,  incident  in  this  tale 
is  the  partial  rehabilitation  of  Willoughby,  who,  when  he 
hears  that  Marianne  is  dying,  posts  down  from  London 
to  shrive  himself  to  her  sister.  His  explanation  is  that 
he  really  was  desperately  in  love  with  Marianne,  but 
that  having  forfeited  the  favour  of  Mrs.  Smith  by  his 
profligacy,  he  found  it,  with  his  habits  of  expenditure 
and  his  debts,  absolutely  necessary  to  marry  for  money. 
He  speaks  odiously  of  his  wife,  though  it  does  not 
appear  that  she  had  married  him  for  anything  but  love, 
and  imputes  to  her  dictation  his  heartless  and  ungentle- 
manly  letter.  To  the  male  apprehension  nothing  could 
be  more  unsatisfactory  than  this  defence  ;  but  if  we  may 
trust  Jane  Austen,  the  female  mind  is,  or  was  in  those 
days,  very  forgiving  to  sincere  passion,  even  if  it  failed 
in  constancy.     The  assurance  that  Willoughby  had  not 


96  LIFE  OF 

been  trifling  with  Marianne's  affection,  but  had  really 
been  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  her,  and  had  been 
miserable  at  losing  her,  appears  to  relieve  him  of  a  load 
of  guilt.  It  seems,  too,  that  we  have  the  same  authority 
for  believing  that  even  when  all  is  over  between  two 
lovers,  a  regard  for  the  man's  character  still  lingers  in 
the  woman's  breast,  and  she  feels  a  satisfaction  in 
learning  that  he  was  not  unworthy  of  her  love.  To  the 
Mrs,  Willoughby  who  has  supplanted  her  apparently  she 
is  ruthless.  It  will  be  observed  that  in  the  case  of 
Willoughby,  as  in  that  of  Wickham,  Jane  Austen  is 
merciful  to  the  sinner  and  saves  him  from  final 
perdition. 

Jane  Austen  never  fails  to  show  great  store  of  observa- 
tion and  invention  in  her  minor  characters,  and  in  the 
relations,  similarities,  and  contrasts  between  them.  Mrs. 
Jennings  is  one  of  a  kind  which  she  is  very  fond  of 
painting,  with  a  good  and  a  bad  side — vulgar  and  rattling 
as  she  can  be,  a  thoroughpaced  matchmaker  and  gossip, 
and  capable  of  recommending  a  glass  of  particularly  old 
and  fine  constantia  as  a  cordial  for  a  wounded  heart ; 
yet  with  the  best  of  natures,  untiring  in  her  kindness, 
and  right  in  her  sympathies.  Sir  John  Middleton,  with 
his  profuse  and  boisterous  hospitality,  his  good  humour, 
his  illiteracy,  and  his  coarse  jokes,  is  half-way  between 
Squire  Western  and  the  country  gentleman  of  the 
present  day.  He  goes  to  London,  which  Squire 
Western  did  not ;  but  the  metropolis  is  to  him  a  crowd 
of  company  in  which  he  noisily  revels  untouched  by 
the  intellect  or  the  polish.  When  he  is  asked  to 
describe  Willoughby,  he  says  that  he  is  a  bold  rider  and 


JANE  A  USTEN.  97 

a  very  decent  shot.  Further  questioned  by  the  eager 
and  indignant  Marianne  as  to  the  young  man's  manners, 
acquaintances,  pursuits,  talents,  and  genius,  he  is 
puzzled.  "I  don't  know  much  about  him,"  he  says, 
"as  to  all  that.  But  he  is  a  pleasant,  good-humoured 
fellow,  and  has  got  the  nicest  black  bitch  of  a  pointer  I 
ever  saw.  Was  she  out  with  him  to  day  ?  "  On  hearing 
of  Willoughby"s  treachery  he  vows  that  he  "  could  not 
speak  another  word  to  him,  meet  him  where  he  might, 
for  all  the  world.  No,  not  if  it  were  to  be  by  the  side  of 
Barton  covert,  and  they  were  kept  waiting  for  two  hours 
together.  Such  a  scoundrel  of  a  fellow,  such  a  deceitful 
dog  !  It  was  only  the  last  time  they  met  that  he  had 
offered  him  one  of  Folly's  puppies,  and  this  was  the  end 
of  it!" 

Lady  Middleton  and  Mrs.  John  Dashwood  are  touched 
off  together.  "  Lady  Middleton  was  equally  pleased 
with  Mrs.  Dashwood.  There  was  a  kind  of  cold- 
hearted  selfishness  on  both  sides  which  naturally 
attracted  them,  and  they  sympathized  with  each  other 
in  an  insipid  propriety  of  demeanour  and  a  general 
want  of  understanding."  Lady  Middleton,  however, 
gets  her  due.  In  her  calm  and  polite  unconcern, 
Elinor  finds  a  relief  from  the  clamorous  kindness  and 
intrusive  curiosity  of  others,  and  "  as  every  qualification 
is  raised  at  times  by  the  circumstances  of  the  moment 
to  more  than  its  real  value,"  the  afilicted  soul  is  some- 
times "  worried  by  othcious  condolence  into  rating  good 
breeding  as  more  indispensable  to  comfort  than  good 
nature."  Evidently  Jane's  own  sense  of  the  value  of 
good  breeding  was  keen.     The  case  in  which  she  shows 

7 


98  LIFE  OF 

no  mercy  is  that  of  the  Misses  Steele,  vulgar  alike  in 
manners  and  in  soul,  obtrusive  and  malicious  at  the 
same  time. 

One  of  the  best  bits  of  "  miniature  painting "  in  the 
tale  is  the  scene  at  the  opening,  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
John  Dashwood,  having  come  in  for  great  wealth, 
debate  the  duty  of  fulfilling  the  late  Mr.  Dashwood's 
dying  injunction  to  do  something  for  his  widow  and 
daughters.  Mr.  John  Dashwood  thinks  of  giving  them 
three  thousand  pounds.  His  wife  protests  against  his 
*'  ruining  himself  and  their  poor  little  Harry  by  giving 
away  half  his  money  to  his  half-sisters."  This  brings  it 
down  to  five  hundred  pounds  apiece.  From  five  hun- 
dred pounds  apiece  it  comes  down  to  a  small  annuity 
for  the  widow.     But  annuities  are  so  objectionable ! 


"  '  To  be  sure,'  said  she,  '  it  is  Letter  than  parting  with  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  at  once.  But  then,  if  Mrs.  Dashwood  should  live 
fifteen  years,  we  shall  be  completely  taken  in.' 

"  '  Fifteen  years  !  my  dear  Fanny  ;  her  life  cannot  be  worth  half 
that  purchase.' 

"  '  Certainly  not ;  but  if  you  observe,  people  always  live  for  ever 
when  there  is  any  annuity  to  be  paid  them  ;  and  she  is  very  stout 
and  healthy,  and  hardly  forty.  An  annuity  is  a  very  serious  busi- 
ness ;  it  comes  over  and  over  every  year,  and  there  is  no  getting  rid 
of  it.  You  are  not  aware  of  what  you  are  doing.  I  have  known  a 
great  deal  of  the  trouble  of  annuities ;  for  my  mother  was  clogged 
with  the  payment  of  three  old  superannuated  servants  by  my  father's 
will,  and  it  is  amazing  how  disagreeable  she  found  it.  Twice  every 
year  these  annuities  were  to  be  paid  ;  and  then  there  was  the 
trouble  of  getting  it  to  them  ;  and  then  one  of  them  was  said  to 
have  died,  and  afterwards  it  turned  out  no  such  thing.  My  mother 
was  quite  sick  of  it.  Her  income  was  not  her  own,  she  said,  with 
such  perpetual  claims  ou  il ;  and  it  was  more  unkind  in  my  father, 


JANE  A  USTEN.  99 

because,  otherwise,  the  money  would  have  been  entirely  at  my 
mother's  disposal,  without  any  restrictions  whatever.  It  has  given 
me  such  an  abhorrence  of  annuities,  that  I  am  sure  I  would  not  pin 
myself  down  to  the  payment  of  one  for  all  the  world.' 

"  '  It  is  certainly  an  unpleasant  thing,'  replied  Mr.  Dashwood,  *  to 
have  those  kind  of  yearly  drains  on  one's  income.  One's  fortune,  as 
your  mother  justly  says,  is  not  one's  own.  To  be  tied  down  to  the 
regular  payment  of  such  a  sum,  on  every  rent  day,  is  by  no  means 
desirable  :  it  takes  away  one's  independence.' 

"  '  Undoubtedly;  and  after  all  you  have  no  thanks  for  it.  They 
think  themselves  secure,  you  do  no  more  than  what  is  expected, 
and  it  raises  no  gratitude  at  all.  If  I  were  you,  whatever  I  did 
should  be  done  at  my  own  discretion  entirely.  I  would  not  bind 
myself  to  allow  them  anything  yearly.  It  may  be  very  inconvenient 
some  years  to  spare  a  hundred,  or  even  fifty  pounds,  from  our  own 
expenses.' " 


An  occasional  present  of  a  little  money,  Mr,  John 
Dashwood  opines,  will  be  much  better.  But  his  wife 
convinces  him  by  degrees  that  his  father  did  not  mean 
money  at  all,  but  only  general  acts  of  kindness,  such  as 
looking  out  for  a  house  for  them,  and  sending  them 
presents  of  fish  and  game.  Even  to  a  present  of 
furniture  her  selfishness  finds  plausible  objections.  Her 
clinching  argument  is,  that  the  late  Mr.  Dashwood  would 
have  left  everything  to  the  widow  and  daughters  if  he 
could.  This  is  irresistible,  and  Mr.  John  Dashwood 
resolves  "that  it  would  be  absolutely  unnecessary,  if 
not  highly  indecorous,  to  do  more  for  the  widow  and 
children  of  his  father  than  such  sort  of  neighbourly  acts 
as  his  wife  pointed  out." 

Jane  Austen,  as  we  have  seen,  was  remarkable  for  her 
love  of  children  and  her  power  of  winning  their  hearts. 
But  in  this  novel  there  are  two  or  three  passages  which 


100  LIFE  OF 

seem    to   show  that  the  noise   and  rudeness    of  spoilt 
children  had  sometimes  made  her  wince. 


"  Fortunately  for  thoie  who  pay  their  couit  through  such  foibles 
a  fond  mother,  though,  in  pursuit  of  praise  for  her  children,  the 
most  rapacious  of  human  beings,  is  likewise  the  most  credulous  ; 
her  demands  are  exorbitant  ;  but  she  will  swallow  anything ;  and 
the  excessive  affection  and  endurance  of  the  Miss  Steeles  towards 
her  offspring,  were  viewed  therefore  by  Lady  Middleton  without  llie 
smallest  surprise  or  distrust.  She  saw  with  maternal  ct)mplaccncy 
all  the  impertinent  encroachments  and  mischievous  tricks  to  which 
her  cousins  submitted.  She  saw  their  sashes  untied,  their  hair 
jndled  about  their  ears,  their  work-bags  searched,  and  their  knives 
and  scissors  stolen  away,  and  felt  no  doubt  of  its  being  a  reciprocal 
enjoyment.  It  suggested  no  other  surprise  than  that  Elinor  and 
Marianne  should  sit  so  composedly  by  without  claiming  a  share  in 
what  was  passing. 

"  '  John  is  in  such  spirits  to-day !  '  said  she,  on  his  taking  Miss 
Steele's  pocket-handkerchief,  and  throwing  it  out  of  window.  '  He 
is  full  of  monkey  tricks.' 

"  And  soon  afterwards,  on  the  second  boy's  violently  pinching 
one  of  the  same  lady's  fingers,  she  fondly  observed,  '  How  playful 
William  is  !  ' 

"  '  And  here  is  my  sweet  little  Anna-Maria,'  she  added,  tenderly 
caressing  a  little  girl  of  three  years  old,  who  had  not  made  a  noise 
for  the  last  two  minutes  ;  '  and  she  is  always  so  gentle  and  quiet — 
never  was  there  such  a  quiet  little  thing  !' 

"But  unfortunately,  in  bestowing  these  embraces,  a  pin  iu  her 
ladyship's  head-dress  slightly  scratching  the  child's  neck,  ])roduced 
from  this  pattern  of  gentleness  such  violent  screams  as  could  liardly 
be  outdime  by  any  creature  professedly  noisy. 

"The  mother's  consternation  was  excessive;  but  it  could  not 
surpass  the  alarm  of  the  Miss  Steeles,  and  everything  was  dune  by 
all  three,  in  so  critical  an  emergency,  which  affection  could  suggest 
as  likely  to  assuage  the  agonies  of  tlie  little  sufferer.  She  was 
seated  in  her  mother's  lap,  covered  with  kisses,  her  wound  bathed 
with  lavender-water  by  one  of  the  Miss  Steeles,  who  was  on  her 


JANE  A  USTEN.  101 

knees  to  attend  her,  and  her  mouth  stuffed  with  sugar-plums  by  the 
other. 

"  With  such  a  reward  for  her  tears,  the  child  was  too  wise  to  cease 
crying.  She  still  screamed  and  sobbed  lustily,  kicked  her  two 
brothers  for  offeiing  to  touch  her,  and  all  their  united  soothings 
were  ineffectual  till  Lady  Middleton  luckily  remembering  that  in  a 
scene  of  similar  distress,  last  week,  some  apricot  marmalade  had 
been  successfully  applied  for  a  bruised  temple,  the  same  remedy  was 
eagerly  proposed  for  this  unfortunate  scratch,  and  a  slight  intermis- 
sion of  screams  in  the  young  lady  on  hearing  it,  gave  them  reason 
to  hope  that  it  would  not  be  rejected.  She  was  carried  out  of  the 
room,  therefore,  in  her  mother's  arms,  in  quest  of  this  medicine, 
and  as  the  two  boys  chose  to  follow,  though  earnestly  entreated  by 
their  mother  to  stay  behind,  the  four  young  ladies  were  left  in  a 
quietness  which  the  room  had  not  known  for  many  hours." 

"  Sense  and  Sensibility"  runs,  as  has  been  already  said, 
a  good  deal  on  the  same  lines  of  invention  as  "  Pride  and 
Prejudice,"  the  parallel  between  Willoughby  and  Wickham 
being  not  less  obvious  than  that  between  the  two  pairs 
of  sisters.  But  if  its  writer  in  giving  it  to  the  world 
before  "Pride  and  Prejudice,"  when  both  were  ready 
for  publication,  thought  it  the  better  work  of  the  two, 
she  was  an  instance  of  the  errors  to  which  authors  are 
liable  in  estimating  their  own  works. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  reader  who  would  thoroughly  enjoy  "North- 
anger  Abbey  "  must  renew  or  make  acquaintance 
with  Mrs.  Radcliffe's  "Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  the 
paragon  of  the  class  of  romantic  and  sentimental  novels 
at  that  time  in  the  hands  of  young  ladies. 

" '  But,  my  dearest  Catherine,  what  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
sclf  all  this  morning  ?     Have  you  gone  on  with  Udolpho  ? ' 

'* '  Yes,  I  have  been  reading  it  ever  since  I  woke  ;  and  I  am  got 
to  the  black  veil.' 

"'Are  you,  indeed?  How  delightful!  Oh!  I  would  not  tell 
you  what  is  behind  the  black  veil  for  the  world  !  Arc  you  not  wild 
to  know?' 

"  '  Oh  !  yes,  quite  ;  what  can  it  be  ?  But  do  not  tell  me  :  I  would 
not  be  told  upon  any  account.  I  know  it  must  be  a  skeleton  ;  I  am 
sure  it  is  Laurentina's  skeleton.  Oh  !  I  am  delighted  with  the 
book  !  I  should  like  to  spend  my  whole  life  in  reading  it,  I  assure 
you  ;  if  it  had  nc^t  been  to  meet  you,  I  would  not  have  come  away 
from  it  for  all  the  world.' 

"  '  Dear  creature  1  how  much  I  am  obliged  to  you  ;  and  when  you 
have  finished  Udolpho,  we  will  read  the  Italian  together  ;  and  I 
have  made  out  a  list  of  ten  or  twelve  more  of  the  same  kind  for 
you.' 

"  '  Have  you,  indeed  !     How  glad  I  am  !     What  are  they  all  ?' 

"  'I  will  rend  you   their  names  directly;  here  they  are  in  my 


LIFE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  103 

pocket-book.  "  Castle  of  Wolfenbach,''  "  Clermont,"  "  Mysterious 
Warnings,"  "  Necromancer  of  the  Black  Forest,"  "Midnight  Bell," 
"  Orphan  of  the  Rhine,"  and  "  Horrid  Mysteries."  Those  will  last 
us  some  time.' 

"  'Yes  ;  pretty  well ;  but  are  they  all  horrid  ?  Are  you  sure  they 
are  all  horrid  ?  ' 

" '  Yes,  quite  sure  ;  for  a  particular  friend  of  mine,  a  Miss 
Andrews,  a  sweet  girl,  one  of  the  sweetest  creatures  in  the  world, 
has  read  every  one  of  them.'  " 

"Northanger  Abbey"  is  partly  a  quiz  on  the  "Mysteries 
of  Udolpho."  It  has  its  comic  counterparts  to  the 
romantic  and  spectre-haunted  castle,  to  the  terrible  and 
cruel  Montoni,  to  the  dark  fate  of  Laurentina  and  the 
adventure  of  the  mysterious  black  veil.  In  the  course 
of  it,  a  high  compliment  is  paid  to  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  yet 
Mrs.  Radcliffe  would  perhaps  have  preferred  that 
"  Northanger  Abbey  "  should  remain  in  the  drawer  of 
the  unappreciative  publisher,  to  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
it  was  long  consigned. 

Catherine  Morland  is  described  as  setting  out  with 
comical  disqualifications  for  the  part  of  a  heroine  of 
romance. 

"  No  one  who  had  ever  seen  Catherine  Morland  in  her  infancy 
would  have  supposed  her  born  to  be  a  heroine.  Her  situation  in 
life,  the  character  of  her  father  and  mother,  her  own  person  and 
disposition,  were  all  equally  against  her.  Her  father  was  a  clergy- 
man, without  being  neglected  or  poor,  and  a  very  respectable  man, 
though  his  name  was  Richard,  and  he  had  never  been  handsome. 
He  had  a  considerable  independence,  besides  two  good  livings,  and 
he  was  not  in  the  least  addicted  to  locking  up  his  daughters.  Her 
mother  was  a  woman  of  useful  plain  sense,  with  a  good  temper,  and, 
what  is  more  remarkable,  with  a  good  constitution.  She  had  three 
sons  before  Catherine  was  born  ;  and,  instead  of  dying  in  bringing 


104  LIFE  OF 

the  latter  into  the  world,  as  anyhody  might  expect,  she  still  liver!  on 
— lived  to  have  six  children  nujre — to  see  them  growing  up  around 
her,  and  to  enjoy  excellent  health  herself.  A  family  of  ten  children 
will  be  always  called  a  fine  family,  where  there  arc  heads,  and  arms, 
and  legs  enough  for  the  number  ;  but  the  Morlands  had  little  other 
right  to  the  word,  for  they  were  in  general  very  plain,  and  Catherine, 
for  many  years  of  her  life,  as  plain  as  any.  She  had  a  thin  awkward 
figure,  a  sallow  skin  without  colour,  dark  lank  hair,  and  strong 
features ;  so  much  for  her  person,  and  not  less  unpropitious  for 
heroism  seemed  her  mind.  She  was  fond  of  all  boys'  plays,  and 
greatly  preferred  cricket,  not  merely  to  dolls,  but  to  the  more  heroic 
enjoyments  of  infancy,  nuBsing  a  dormouse,  feeding  a  canary-bird, 
or  watering  a  rose-bush.  Indeed  she  had  no  taste  for  a  garden,  and 
if  she  gathered  flowers  at  all,  it  was  chiefly  for  the  pleasure  of 
mischief,  at  least  so  it  was  conjectured  from  her  always  preferring 
those  which  .she  was  forbidden  to  take.  Such  were  her  propensities  ; 
her  abilities  were  quite  as  extraordinary.  She  never  could  learn  or 
understand  anything  before  she  was  taught,  and  sometimes  not  even 
then,  for  she  was  often  inattentive,  and  occasionally  stupid.  Her 
mother  was  three  months  in  teaching  her  only  to  repeat  the 
'Beggar's  Petition,'  and,  after  all,  her  next  sister  Sally  could  say 
it  better  than  .she  did.  Not  that  Catherine  was  always  stupid  ;  by 
no  means,  she  learned  the  fable  of  '  The  I  fare  and  many  Friends  ' 
as  quickly  as  any  girl  in  England.  Her  mother  wished  her  to  learn 
music  ;  and  Cathciine  was  sure  she  should  like  it,  for  she  was  very 
fond  of  tinkling  the  keys  of  the  old  forlorn  spinnet,  so  at  eight  years 
old  she  began.  She  learned  a  year  and  could  not  bear  it ;  and  Mrs. 
Morland,  who  did  not  insist  on  her  daughters  being  accomplished 
in  spite  of  incapacity  or  distaste,  allowed  her  to  leave  off.  The  day 
which  dismissed  the  music-master  was  one  of  the  hajipiest  of 
Catherine's  life.  Her  taste  for  drawing  was  not  superior;  though 
whenever  she  could  obtain  the  outside  of  a  letter  from  her  mother, 
or  seize  upon  any  other  odd  piece  of  jiapcr,  she  did  what  she  could  in 
that  way  by  drawing  houses  and  trees,  hens  and  chickens,  all  very 
much  like  one  another.  Writing  and  accounts  she  was  taught  by  her 
father  ;  French  by  her  mother.  Her  proficiency  in  cither  was  not 
remarkable,  and  she  shirked  her  lessons  in  both  whenever  she  could. 
Wiiat  a  strange  unaccountable  character  !  for  with  all  these 
symptoms  of  profligacy  at  ten  years  old,  she  had  neither  a  bail  heart 


JANE  AUSTEN.  105 

nor  a  bad  temper,  was  seldom  stubborn,  scarcely  ever  quarrelsome, 
and  very  kind  to  the  little  ones,  with  few  interruptions  of  tyranny. 
She  was,  moreover,  noisy  and  wild,  hated  confinement  and  cleanli- 
ness, and  loved  nothing  so  well  in  the  world  as  rolling  down  the 
green  slope  at  the  back  of  the  house." 

Yet  a  heroine  Catherine  Morland  is  to  be.  At  fifteen 
appearances  mend.  Catherine  begins  to  curl  her  hair 
and  long  for  balls,  while  her  looks  improve  so  much  that 
she  hears  herself  called  almost  pretty.  From  fifteen  to 
seventeen  slie  trains  herself  for  the  part  by  filling  her 
imagination  with  poetry  and  novels  ;  and  though  the 
situation  is  not  promising,  the  village  supplying  no 
materials  for  romance,  not  a  single  young  man  whose 
origin  is  unknown,  a  heroine's  destiny  is  not  to  be 
baffled.  Mr.  Allen,  the  chief  proprietor  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  a  friend  of  the  family,  is  going  to  Bath  for 
his  gout,  and  his  good-natured  wife  takes  Catherine  with 
her.  So  Catherine  sets  out  on  her  adventures.  Mrs. 
Morland's  parting  advice  to  her  daughter  is,  not  to  be 
on  her  guard  against  the  violence  of  noblemen  who 
would  run  away  with  her,  but  to  wrap  up  warm  and 
keep  accounts. 

We  have  now  a  picture  of  Bath  as  it  was  when  the 
spirit  of  Beau  Nash  still  lingered  there,  when  the  com- 
pany which  thronged  the  queen  of  watering-places  had 
not  lost  its  unity,  but  assembled  regularly  every  evening 
in  the  Rooms  under  the  presidency  of  the  master  of 
ceremonies  to  dance,  promenade,  play  whist,  flirt, 
display  its  dresses,  and  exhibit  its  varieties  of  character. 
Mrs.  Allen  and  Catherine  at  first  find  themselves  alone 
in  the  crowd,  but  presently  they  light  on  Mrs.  Thorpe, 


106  LIFE  OF 

an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Allen,     With  Mrs.  Thorpe  is  her 
daughter  Isabella,  a  beauty,  and  full  of  gushing  senti- 
ment, but  vulgar-minded,  heartless,  and  designing,  with 
whom  Catherine  at  once  strikes  up  a  bosom  friendship, 
and   enters  into  a  partnership  of  novel  reading.     The 
party    is    joined    by   Catherine's    brother    James,    and 
Isabella's  brother  John,  who  are  college  friends.     James 
is  engaged  to  Isabella,  and  is  a  good  fellow.     John  is  a 
specimen  of  a  class  not  yet  extinct.     He  is   "  a  stout 
young  man,  of  middling  height,  who,  with  a  plain  face 
and  ungraceful  form,  seemed  fearful  of  being  too  hand- 
some unless  he  wore  the  dress  of  a  groom,  and  too 
much  like  a  gentleman  unless  he  were  easy  where  he 
ought  to  be  civil,  and   impudent    where   he   might   be 
allowed  to  be  easy.     He  is  a  fast  man,  or  a  would-be 
fast  man,  and  a  blackguard,  always  talking  horse,  always 
swearing,  a  braggart  withal  and  a  liar.     Having,  as  he 
fancies,  elicited  from  Catherine  Morland  that  she  is  the 
destined   heiress   of   Mr.  Allen,  he  makes   up   to   her, 
takes   her  on  expeditions  in  which  his  character  as  a 
man  and  a  Jehu  is  displayed  with  results  highly  comical, 
but   embarrassing   to   the   lady.     The   name  of  Blaize 
Castle,  the  show  place  at  Clifton,  which  she  imagines  to 
be  a  castle  of  romance,  exercises  a  powerful  influence 
on  Catherine's  fancy,  and  leads  her  astray  from  the  path 
of  strict  social  rectitude.    Meanwhile  she  has  been  intro- 
duced to  a  gentleman  to  whom  the  blackguard  Thorpe 
serves  as  a  foil.     This  is  the  good-looking,  well-bred, 
and   eminently  sensible   and  witty  Mr.   Henry   Tilney, 
a  young    clergyman,    the    son    of    General    Tilney,   a 
Gloucestershire   magnate.     She   has   at   the  same  time 


JANE  A  US  TEN.  107 

formed  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Henry  Tilney's  sister, 
the  excellent  and  amiable  Eleanor.  Henry  Tilney  does 
not  fall  in  love  with  her,  but  he  is  attracted  by  the 
simplicity  of  her  character,  beneath  which  lie  right 
feeling  and  good  sense.  He  amuses  himself  by  talking 
to  her  and  making  fun  of  her  in  a  good-natured  way. 
Her  feelings  are  much  in  advance  of  his.  She  admires 
him  intensely,  though  in  her  humility  she  scarcely  dares 
aspire  to  his  love. 

Now  General  Tilney  appears  upon  the  scene.  He  is 
a  most  imposing  personage,  eminently  handsome,  stately 
in  deportment,  and  perfectly  well-bred  ;  but  a  tyrant  of 
whose  temper  his  family  and  all  about  him  stand  in 
awe,  full  of  his  own  consequence,  and  greedy  and 
grasping  at  the  same  time.  He  is  in  short  the  Montoni 
of  this  comic  version  of  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho." 
Becoming  acquainted  through  his  son  and  daughter 
with  Catherine,  the  great  man  is  surprisingly  and  over- 
whelmingly polite,  though  in  the  midst  of  his  most 
elaborate  attentions  she  feels  the  chill  which  he  casts 
over  all  around  him,  and  which  extends  even  to  her 
intercourse  with  his  son  and  daughter  in  his  presence. 
When  the  Aliens  leave  Bath  he  invites  her  to  stay  with 
him  at  his  seat  in  Gloucestershire,  Northanger  Abbey. 
An  abbey  and  the  home  of  Henry  Tilney  !  The  com- 
bination is  too  enchanting,  for  the  name  Abbey  at  once 
conjures  up  visions  of  dark  cloisters,  subterranean 
passages,  ruined  chapels  and  cells  haunted  by  legends 
of  ill-fated  nuns.  For  Northanger  Abbey  the  party  set 
out  in  great  state,  with  the  General's  carriage  and  four 
and  outriders.     At  starting  the  General  is  so  incensed  at 


108  LIFE  OF 

finding  Catherine  incommoded  by  the  packages  which 
have  been  stowed  into  the  carriage,  that  her  new  writing- 
desk  narrowly  escapes  being  thrown  into  the  street. 
After  the  first  stage  she  is  transferred  from  the  state 
carriage  to  the  box  of  a  curricle  by  the  side  of  Henry 
Tilney,  who  amuses  himself  with  exciting  her  fancy 
about  the  Abbey. 

"  '  You  have  formed  a  very  favouralile  idea  of  the  alihey.' 

"  '  To  be  sure  I  have.  Is  not  it  a  fine  old  place,  just  like  what 
one  reads  about  ?  ' 

"  '  And  are  you  prepared  to  encounter  all  the  horrors  that  a 
building  such  as  "what  one  reads  about "  may  produce?  Have 
.you  a  stout  heart  ?     Nerves  fit  for  sliding  panels  and  tapestry  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh  !  yes,  I  do  not  tliink  I  should  be  easily  frightened,  because 
there  would  be  so  many  people  in  the  house  ;  and  besides,  it  has 
never  been  uninhabited  and  left  deserted  for  years,  and  then  the 
family  come  back  to  it  unawares,  without  giving  any  notice,  as 
generally  happens.' 

"  '  No,  certainly.  We  shall  not  have  to  explore  our  way  into  a 
hall  dimly  lighted  liy  the  expiring  embers  of  a  wood  fire,  nor  be 
oliliged  to  si)read  our  beds  on  the  floor  of  a  room  without  windows, 
doors,  or  furniture.  But  you  must  be  aware  that  when  a  young 
lady  is  (by  whatever  means)  introduced  into  a  dwelling  of  this  kind, 
she  is  always  lodged  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  family.  While  they 
snugly  repair  to  their  own  end  of  the  house,  she  is  formally  con- 
ducted by  Dorothy,  the  ancient  housekeeper,  up  a  different  staircase, 
and  along  many  gloomy  passages,  into  an  apartment  never  used 
since  some  cousin  or  kin  died  in  it  about  twenty  years  before.  Can 
you  stand  such  a  ceremony  as  this  ?  Will  not  your  mind  misgive 
you  when  you  find  yourself  in  this  gloomy  chamber,  too  lofty  and 
extensive  for  you,  with  only  the  feeble  rays  of  a  single  lamp  to  take 
in  its  size,  its  walls  hung  wiih  tapestry  exhibiting  figures  as  large 
as  life,  and  the  bed,  of  dark  green  stuff  or  purple  velvet,  presenting 
even  a  fimcreal  appearance  ?    Will  not  your  heart  sink  witiiin  you? ' 

"  '  Oil !  but  this  will  not  happen  to  me,  I  am  sure.' 

"'  I  low  fearfully  will  you  examine  the  furniture  of  your  apart- 


JANE  AUSTEN.  109 

ment?  And  what  will  you  discern?  Not  tables,  toilettes,  ward- 
robes, or  drawers,  but  on  one  side  perhaps  the  remains  of  a  broken 
lute,  on  the  other  a  ponderous  chest  which  no  efforts  can  open,  and 
over  the  fireplace  the  portrait  of  some  handsome  warrior,  whose 
features  will  so  incomprehensibly  strilce  you,  that  you  will  not  be 
able  to  withdraw  your  eyes  from  it.  Dorothy,  meanwhile,  no  less 
struck  by  your  appearance,  gazes  on  you  in  great  agitation,  and 
drops  a  few  unintelligible  hints.  To  raise  your  spirits,  moreover, 
she  gives  you  reason  to  suppose  that  the  part  of  the  abbey  you  in- 
habit is  undoubtedly  haunted,  and  informs  you  that  you  will  not 
have  a  single  domestic  within  call.  With  this  parting  cordial,  she 
courtesies  off:  you  listen  to  the  sound  of  her  receding  footsteps  as 
long  as  the  last  echo  can  reach  you :  and  when,  with  fainting  spirits, 
you  attempt  to  fasten  your  door,  you  discover,  with  increased  alarm, 
that  it  has  no  lock.' 

"  '  Oh  !  Mr.  Tilney,  how  frightful.  This  is  just  like  a  book  ! 
But  it  cannot  really  happen  to  me.  I  am  sure  your  housekeeper  is 
not  really  Dorothy.     Well,  what  then  ?  ' 

"  '  Nothing  further  to  alarm,  perhaps,  may  occur  the  first  niglit. 
After  surmounting  your  unconquerable  horror  of  the  bed,  yOu  will 
retire  to  rest,  and  get  a  few  hours'  unquiet  slumber.  But  on  the 
second,  or  at  farthest  the  third  night  after  your  arrival,  you  will 
probably  have  a  violent  storm.  Peals  of  thunder  so  loud  as  to  seem 
to  shake  the  edifice  to  its  foundation  will  roll  round  the  neighbouring 
mountains;  and  during  the  frightful  gusts  of  wind  which  accompany 
it,  you  will  probably  think  you  discern  (for  your  lanii^  is  not  extin- 
guished) one  part  of  the  hanging  more  violently  agitated  than  the 
rest.  Unable  of  course  to  repress  your  curiosity  in  so  favourable  a 
moment  for  indulging  it,  you  will  instantly  arise,  and,  throwing  your 
dressing-gown  around  you,  proceed  to  examine  this  mystery.  After 
a  very  short  search,  you  will  discover  a  division  in  the  tapestry  so 
artfully  constructed  as  to  defy  the  minutest  inspection,  and  on  opening 
it,  a  door  will  immediately  appear,  which  door  being  only  secured 
by  massy  bars  and  a  padlock,  you  will,  after  a  few  efforts,  succeed 
in  opening,  and,  with  your  lamp  in  your  hand,  will  pass  through  it 
into  a  small  vaulted  room.' 

"  '  No,  indeed  ;  I  should  be  too  much  frightened  to  do  any  such 
thing.' 


110  LIFE  OF 

"  '  What  !  not  when  Dotolhy  has  given  you  to  understand  that 
there  is  a  secret  subterraneous  communication  between  your  apart- 
ment and  the  chapel  of  St.  Anthony,  scarcely  two  miles  off.  Could 
you  shiink  from  so  simple  an  adventure?  No,  no;  you  will  proceed 
into  this  small  vaulted  room,  and  through  this  into  several  others, 
without  perceiving  anything  very  remarkable  in  either.  In  one, 
perhaps,  there  may  be  a  dagger,  in  another  a  few  drops  of  blood, 
and  in  a  third  the  remains  of  some  instrument  of  torture  ;  but  there 
being  nothing  in  all  this  out  of  the  common  way,  and  your  lamp 
being  nearly  exhausted,  you  will  return  towards  your  own  apart- 
ment. In  repassing  through  the  small  vaulted  room,  however,  your 
eyes  will  be  attracted  towards  a  large,  old-fashioned  cabinet  of  ebony 
and  gold,  which,  though  narrowly  examining  the  furniture  before, 
you  had  passed  unnoticed.  Impelled  by  an  irresistible  presenti- 
ment, you  will  eagerly  advance  to  it,  unlock  its  folding  doors,  and 
search  into  every  drawer  ;  but  for  some  time  without  discovering 
anything  of  importance  ;  perhaps  nothing  but  a  considerable  hoard 
of  diamonds.  At  last,  however,  by  touching  a  secret  spring,  an 
inner  apartment  will  open,  a  roll  of  paper  appears,  you  seize  it — it 
contains  many  sheets  of  manuscript  :  you  hasten  with  the  precious 
treasure  into  your  own  chamber,  but  scarcely  have  you  been  able  to 
decipher,  "  Oh  thou,  whomsoever  thou  mayst  be,  into  whose  hands 
these  memoirs  of  the  wretched  Matilda  may  fall,"  when  your  lamp 
suddenly  expires  in  the  socket,  and  leaves  you  in  total  darkness.'  " 

The  Abbey  turns  out  to  be  a  mansion  thoroughly 
modernized  and  improved  to  the  highest  pitch  by  the 
General's  judicious  energy.  Still  it  is  on  the  site  of  an 
abbey,  it  bears  the  name,  it  even  embodies  some  parts 
of  the  old  buildings.  There  is  food  in  it  yet  for  an 
excited  imagination.  Catherine  finds  herself  in  a  bed- 
room unromantically  comfortable.  Eut  her  eye  is  met 
by  a  large  cedar  chest,  curiously  inlaid,  with  handles 
of  silver,  broken,  perhaps,  by  some  strange  violence, 
and  with  a  mysterious  cypher  on  the  lid.  She  cannot 
resist  the  impulse  to  look  into  it ;  with  trembling  hand 


JANE  AUSTEN.  Ill 

she  raises  the  hd,  finds  that  it  contains  a  white  cotton 
counterpane,  is  caught  in  the  act  by  Miss  Tihiey,  and 
provokes  the  General  into  a  momentary  revelation  of 
the  martinet  by  being  some  minutes  late  for  dinner. 
The  evening  passes  without  further  disturbance,  and,  in 
the  occasional  absence  of  General  Tilney,  with  much 
positive  cheerfulness.  The  hour  for  retiring  comes. 
The  night  is  stormy.  Catherine,  as  she  crosses  the  hall, 
listens  to  the  tempest  with  awe,  and  when  she  hears  it 
rage  round  a  corner  of  the  ancient  building  and  slam  a 
distant  door,  she  feels  indeed  that  she  is  in  an  abbey. 
She  screws  up  her  courage,  however ;  persuades  herself 
that  she  is  quite  safe  and  has  nothing  to  fear  from 
midnight  assassins  or  ravishers,  that  Henry  Tilney  could 
only  have  been  in  jest,  and  that  if  the  window  curtains 
seem  in  motion  it  is  only  the  violence  of  the  wind. 
She  lets  her  fire  go  out  because  to  keep  it  up  would  be 
cowardly,  and  is  stepping  into  bed  when  her  eye  is 
caught  by  a  high  old-fashioned  black  cabinet,  which  she 
had  not  noticed  before. 


"  Henry's  words,  his  description  of  the  ebony  cabinet  which  was 
to  escape  her  observation  at  first,  immediately  rushed  across  her ; 
and  though  there  could  be  nothing  really  in  it,  there  was  something 
whimsical,  it  was  certainly  a  very  remarkable  coincidence  !  She 
took  her  candle  and  looked  closely  at  the  cabinet.  It  was  not 
absolutely  ebony  and  gold  ;  but  it  was  Japan,  black  and  yellow 
Japan  of  the  handsomest  kind ;  and  as  she  held  her  candle,  the 
yellow  had  very  much  the  effect  of  gold. 

"  The  key  was  in  the  door,  and  she  had  a  strange  fancy  to  look 
into  it ;  not,  however,  with  the  smallest  expectation  of  finding  any- 
thing, but  it  was  so  very  odd,  after  what  Heniy  had  said.  In  short, 
she  could  not  sleep  till  she  had  examined  it.    So,  placing  the  candle 


112  LIFE  OF 

with  great  caution  on  a  chair,  she  seized  the  key  with  a  very  tremu- 
lous hand,  and  tried  to  turn  it  ;  but  it  resisted  her  utmost  strcns^th. 
Alarmed,  but  not  discouraged,  she  tried  it  another  way ;  a  bolt  ilew, 
and  she  believed  herself  successful ;  but  how  strangely  mysterious  1 
the  door  was  still  immovable.  She  paused  a  moment  in  breathless 
wonder.  The  wind  roared  down  the  chimney,  the  rain  beat  in 
torrents  against  the  windows,  and  everything  seemed  to  speak  the 
awfulness  of  her  situation.  To  retire  to  bed,  however,  unsatisfied 
on  such  a  point,  would  be  vain,  since  sleep  must  be  impossible  with 
the  consciousness  of  a  cabinet  so  mysteriously  closed  in  her  imme- 
diate vicinity.  Again,  therefore,  she  appHed  herself  to  the  key, 
and  after  moving  it  in  every  possible  way,  for  some  instants,  with 
the  determined  celerity  of  hope's  last  effort,  the  door  suddenly 
yielded  to  her  hand  :  her  heart  leaped  with  exultation  at  such  a 
victory,  and  having  thrown  open  each  folding  door,  the  second  being 
secured  only  liy  bolts  of  less  wonderful  construction  than  the  lock, 
though  in  that  her  eye  could  not  discern  anything  unusual,  a  double 
range  of  small  drawers  appeared  in  view,  with  some  larger  drawers 
above  and  below  them,  and  in  the  centre,  a  small  door,  closed  also 
with  lock  and  key,  secured  in  all  probability  a  cavity  of  importance. 
"Catherine's  heart  beat  quick,  but  her  courage  did  not  fail  her. 
With  a  cheek  flushed  by  hope,  and  an  eye  straining  with  curiosity, 
her  fingers  grasped  the  handle  of  a  drawer  and  drew  it  forth.  It 
was  entirely  empty.  With  less  alarm  and  greater  eagerness  she 
seized  a  second,  a  third,  a  fourth^each  was  equally  empty.  Not 
one  was  left  unsearched,  and  in  not  one  was  anything  found.  Well 
read  in  the  art  of  concealing  a  treasure,  the  possibihty  of  false 
linings  to  the  drawers  did  not  escape  her,  and  she  felt  round  each 
with  anxious  acuteness  in  vain.  The  place  in  the  middle  alone 
remained  now  unexplored ;  and  though  she  had  '  never  from  the 
first  had  the  smallest  idea  of  finding  anything  in  any  part  of  the 
cabinet,  and  was  not  in  the  least  disappointed  at  her  ill  success 
thus  far,  it  would  be  foolish  not  to  examine  it  thoroughly  while  she 
was  about  it.'  It  was  some  time,  however,  before  she  could  unfasten 
the  door,  the  same  difficulty  occurring  in  the  management  of  this 
inner  lock  as  of  the  outer  ;  but  at  length  it  did  open  ;  and  not  vain, 
as  hitherto,  was  her  search  ;  her  quick  eyes  directly  fell  on  a  roll  of 
paper  pushed  back  into  the  further  part  of  the  cavity,  apparently 


JANE  AUSTEN.  113 

for  concealment,  and  her  feelings  at  that  moment  were  indescribable. 
Her  heart  fluttered,  her  knees  trembled,  and  her  cheeks  grew  pale. 
She  seized,  with  an  unsteady  hand,  the  precious  manuscript,  for 
half  a  glance  sufficed  to  ascertain  written  characters  ;  and  while  she 
acknowledged  with  awful  sensations  this  striking  exemplification  of 
what  Henry  had  foretold,  resolved  instantly  to  peruse  every  line 
before  she  attempted  to  rest. 

"  The  dimness  of  the  light  her  candle  emitted  made  her  turn  to 
it  with  alarm  j  but  there  was  no  danger  of  its  sudden  extinction,  it 
had  yet  some  hours  to  burn  ;  and  that  she  might  not  have  any 
greater  difficulty  in  distinguishing  the  writing  than  what  its  ancient 
date  might  occasion,  she  hastily  snuffed  it.  Alas !  it  was  snuffed 
and  extinguished  in  one.  A  lamp  could  not  have  expired  with 
more  awful  effect.  Catherine,  for  a  few  moments,  was  motionless 
with  horror.  It  was  done  completely  ;  not  a  remnant  of  light  in 
the  wick  could  give  hope  to  the  rekindling  breath.  Darkness  im- 
penetrable and  immovable  filled  the  room.  A  violent  gust  of 
wind,  rising  with  sudden  fury,  added  fresh  horror  to  the  moment. 
Catherine  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  In  the  pause  which  suc- 
ceeded, a  sound  like  receding  footsteps  and  the  closing  of  a  distant 
door  struck  on  her  affrighted  ear.  Human  nature  could  support  no 
more.  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  her  forehead,  the  manuscript  fell 
from  her  hand,  and,  groping  her  way  to  the  bed,  she  jumped  hastily 
in,  and  sought  some  suspension  of  agony  by  creeping  far  underneath 
the  clothes.  To  close  her  eyes  in  sleep  that  night  she  felt  must  be 
entirely  out  of  the  question.  With  a  curiosity  so  justly  awakened, 
and  feelings  in  every  way  so  agitated,  repose  must  be  absolutely 
impossible.  The  storm,  too,  abroad  so  dreadful  1  She  had  not 
been  used  to  feel  alarm  from  wind,  but  now  every  blast  seemed 
fraught  with  awful  intelligence.  The  manuscript  so  wonderfully 
found,  so  wonderfully  accomplishing  the  morning's  prediction,  how 
was  it  to  be  accounted  for  ?  \Vliat  could  it  contain  ?  to  whom  could 
it  relate  ?  by  what  means  could  it  have  been  so  long  concealed  ? 
and  how  singularly  strange  that  it  should  fall  to  her  lot  to  discover 
it  !  Till  she  had  made  herself  mistress  of  its  contents,  however, 
she  could  have  neither  repose  nor  comfort ;  and  with  the  sun's  first 
rays  she  was  determined  to  peruse  it.  But  many  were  the  tedious 
hours  which  must  yet  intervene.     She  shuddered,  tossed  about  in 

8 


114  LIFE  OF 

her  bed,  and  envied  every  quiet  sleeper.  The  storm  still  raged, 
and  various  were  the  noises,  more  terrific  even  than  the  wind,  which 
struck  at  intervals  on  her  startled  ear.  The  very  curtains  of  her 
bed  seemed  at  one  moment  in  motion,  and  at  another  the  lock  of 
her  door  was  agitated,  as  if  by  the  attempt  of  somebody  to  enter. 
Hollow  murmurs  seemed  to  creep  along  the  gallery,  and  more  than 
once  her  blood  was  chilled  by  the  sound  of  distant  moans.  Hour 
after  hour  passed  away,  and  the  wearied  Catherine  had  heard  three 
proclaimed  by  all  the  clocks  in  the  house,  before  the  tempest  sub- 
sided, or  she  unknowingly  fell  fast  asleep." 

As  soon  as  she  wakes  in  the  morning  she  glances  with 
greedy  eye  over  the  mysterious  manuscript,  and  finds 
that  it  is  an  inventory  of  hnen. 

Once  more  her  romantic  fancy  betrays  her.  General 
Tilney  is  a  widower,  and  Catherine  divines,  rightly 
enough  it  seems,  that  his  wife  was  not  hnppy,  though 
we  know  from  a  remark  of  Mrs.  Allen's  that  he  got  a 
good  lump  of  money  with  her.  This  raises  recollections 
of  Montoni  and  his  treatment  of  his  ill-starred  wife.  Is 
he  not  like  Montoni,  moody  and  austere,  and  does  he 
not  show  that  he  has  something  on  his  conscience  by 
sitting  up  late  at  night  and  taking  solitary  walks  ?  If 
any  faith  is  to  be  placed  in  romances,  Mrs;  Tilney  may 
be  still  living  and  a  prisoner,  while  a  wax  image  has 
been  buried  in  her  place.  There  is  a  set  of  rooms  into 
which  the  General,  in  showing  Catherine  over  the  house, 
has  not  taken  her.  She  imagines  that  it  must  hide  his 
guilty  secret.  She  attempts  clandestinely  to  explore  it, 
is  caught  in  the  act  by  Henry  Tilney,  lets  out  her  secret 
with  her  usual  simplicity  under  his  cross-examination, 
and  is  covered  with  confusion. 

The  General's  attentions  all  this  time  are  constant  and 


JANE  A  USTEN.  115 

laborious.  In  person  he  shows  Catherine  over  the  place 
and  the  improvements,  makes  her  uncomfortable  by 
scolding  his  children  for  not  treating  her  with  sufficient 
courtesy,  and  pays  her  a  profusion  of  icy  compliments. 
Finally  he  takes  her  in  the  carriage  and  four  to  spend  a 
day  with  Henry  Tilney  at  his  parsonage,  twenty  miles 
from  Northanger,  shows  her  over  its  house  and  grounds, 
and,  with  the  most  deferential  air,  asks  her  opinion  about 
the  furnishing  and  papering  of  it  in  a  manner  which 
shows  that  he  looks  upon  it  as  her  future  home.  She 
admires  a  cottage  which  comes  into  the  view  and  which 
it  had  been  intended  to  pull  down.  "  You  like  it,"  says 
the  General,  "you  approve  it  as  an  object.  It  is  enough. 
Henry,  remember  that  Robinson  is  spoken  to  about  it. 
The  cottage  remains."  Manifestly  General  Tilney  is  re- 
solved that  Catherine  Morland  shall  be  his  son  Henry's 
wife,  though  the  great  man's  motive  for  desiring  so 
humble  an  alliance  is  a  mystery.  The  mystery  is  cleared 
up  and  a  catastrophe  is  brought  on  by  the  progress  of 
events  elsewhere. 

The  General  is  called  away  from  home  on  business. 
He  leaves  Catherine  in  the  care  of  his  son  and  daughter, 
with  whom  she  greatly  enjoys  herself  in  his  absence. 
One  night  suddenly,  like  a  thunderclap,  he  returns.  A 
hesitating  step  is  presently  heard  at  the  door  of  Catherine's 
room.  It  is  that  of  Miss  Tilney,  who  has  come  in  tears 
to  say  that  her  father  has  returned  in  a  state  of  high  dis- 
pleasure, that  the  family  are  to  leave  home  in  two  days, 
and  that  Catherine  is  to  be  sent  away  the  very  next 
morning.  The  carriage  has  been  peremptorily  ordered 
for  her  at  seven  o'clock,  and  she  is  not  even  to  have  the 


116  LIFE  OF 

escort  of  a  servant,  so  necessary  to  a  young  lady  travel- 
ling in  the  posting  days.     What  can  be  the  reason  of  her 
father's  wrath  and  of  his  cruel  conduct  to  her  friend,  Miss 
Tilney  cannot  divine.     Catherine  thinks  of  the  suspicion 
she   had  conceived  about  INIontoni's  treatment  of  his 
wife ;  but  it  is  impossible  that  Henry  Tilney  can  have 
betrayed  her.     The  truth  is  that  the  General  has  been  in 
a  fool's  paradise,  into  which  he  has  been  led  by  the  lying 
tongue  of  Jack  Thorpe.    Believing  that  his  sister  Isabella 
was  going  to  marry  James  Morland,  and  having  himself 
thoughts  of  Catherine,  Jack  Thorpe  had  bragged  to  the 
General,  whom  he  met  at  Bath,  of  the  wealth  and  con- 
sequence of  the  Morland  family,   "throwing  in  a  rich 
aunt,"  and  representing  Catherine  as  the  destined  heiress 
of  Mr.  Allen's  estate.     Swallowing  all  this  with  the  eager 
credulity  of  greed,  the  General  had  resolved  to  secure 
Catherine  for  his  younger  son,  and  had  taken  her  to 
Northanger  with  that  view.     But  now  Jack  Thorpe  has 
lost  all  hope  of  Catherine,  and  at  the  same  time  his 
sister,   the   highly   sentimental   and   romantically   disin- 
terested  Isabella^   finding  that   James   Morland   would 
only  have  four  hundred  a  year,  has  thrown  him  over, 
and  is  trying,  though  in  vain,  to  catch  Captain  Tilney, 
Henry's  elder  brother,   in  his  place.      All  prospect  of 
connection  with  the  Morland  family  being  at  an  end, 
Jack   changes   his  note,   and,    meeting   General  Tilney 
again,  gives  him  an  account  of  the  Morlands  quite  op- 
posite to  that  which  he  had  given  in  the  first  instance, 
understating  their  wealth  and  consequence  as  much  as  he 
had  overstated  them  before.     He  winds  up  by  saying 
that  he  knew  the  heir  of  the  Allen  property.     This  it  is 


JANE  A  USTEN.  117 

that  sends  the  General  home  in  a  transport  of  disap- 
pointment and  rage,  and  makes  him  behave  to  poor 
Catherine  as  badly  as  any  tyrant  of  romance.  Catherine 
wends  her  sad  and  solitary  way  to  her  home,  and  there 
pensively  settles  down,  often  going  over  to  Mrs.  Allen 
for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  her  speak  of  Henry  Tilney, 
but  never  expecting  to  see  him  again. 

Of  course  she  does  see  him  again.  What  was  at  first 
on  Henry's  part  merely  interest  in  a  simple  and  amusing 
character,  has  been  ripened  by  intercourse  into  love,  to 
which  he  is  true  notwithstanding  the  paternal  ban.  One 
day  he  presents  himself  at  Catherine's  home,  offers  his 
hand,  and  is  accepted,  though  her  father's  decision  is 
suspended  till  that  of  General  Tilney  shall  have  been 
obtained.  Just  at  this  time  Miss  Tilney  marries  a 
Viscount,  and  the  General  is  put  in  good  humour  by 
having  a  daughter  whom  he  can  address  as  "  My  Lady." 
The  prayers  of  a  Viscount  and  Viscountess  prevail. 
Catherine's  circumstances  and  expectations  are  found, 
though  not  so  good  as  Jack  Thorpe  at  first  said  they 
were,  better  than  he  afterwards  painted  them.  The 
General  issues  his  edict  that  Henry  may  make  a  fool  of 
himself  if  he  pleases,  and  the  marriage  bells  are  ringing 
as  the  curtain  falls. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOME  will   think   that  of   all  Miss  Austen's  works 
"  Emma  "  is  the  best.     Its  heroine  is  certainly  not 
the  least  charming. 

"  '  Such  an  eye  !— the  true  hazel  eye— and  so  brilliant!  regular 
features,  open  countenance,  with  a  complexion — oh,  what  a  bloom 
of  full  health,  and  such  a  pretty  height  and  size  !  such  a  firm  and 
upright  figure  !  There  is  health  not  merely  in  her  bloom,  but  in  her 
air,  her  head,  her  glance.  One  hears  something  of  a  child  being 
"  the  picture  of  health  "  ;  now,  Emma  always  gives  me  the  idea  of 
being  the  complete  jncture  of  grown-up  health.  She  is  loveliness 
itself.     Mr.  Knightley,  is  not  she  ?  '" 

Emma  is  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Woodhouse,  known 
even  to  some  who  have  never  read  Miss  Austen  as  the 
typical  valetudinarian  who  "  likes  his  gruel  thin,  but  not 
too  thin."  They  live  at  Hartfield,  close  to  the  large 
village  or  little  town  of  Highbury,  in  Hertfordshire. 
Hartfield  is  close  to  Highbury,  but  not  in  it :  it  stands  in 
grounds  of  its  own,  and  though  it  has  but  little  of  the  land 
which  in  those  days  was  the  great  and  almost  sole  basis 
of  rural  rank, — its  acres  being  a  mere  notch  in  the  estate 
of  Mr.  Knightley,  of  Donwell  Abbey,— its  denizens  dis- 
tinctly belong  to  the  gentry,  having  other  property,  being 


LIFE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN.  119 

a  younger  branch  of  a  good  family,  and  one  for  several 
generations  not  stained  by  labour.  Emma's  only  sister, 
Isabella,  being  married  to  Mr.  John  Knightley,  a  lawyer 
in  London  and  brother  of  Mr.  Knightley,  of  Donwell 
Abbey,  she  lives  alone  with  her  father,  is  mistress  of 
Hartfield,  and  the  great  lady  and  the  great  match  of 
Highbury.  The  party  at  Hartfield  had  been  three,  the 
third  being  the  excellent  Miss  Taylor,  who  had  been 
Emma's  governess,  and  when  Emma  had  outgrown  the 
schoolroom  remained  as  a  friend.  But  "poor  Miss 
Taylor,"  as  Mr.  Woodhouse  always  mournfully  calls  her, 
has  married  the  good-humoured  Mr.  Weston.  They  Hve 
at  Randalls,  close  to  Hartfield.  Mrs.  Weston,  into 
whose  mouth  the  description  of  Emma  just  quoted  is 
put,  still  feels  a  maternal  interest  in  her  former  pupil, 
with  whom  she  is  in  constant  intercourse. 

Emma  has  her  faults.  She  lost  her  mother  early. 
She  has  had  things  too  much  her  own  way.  Slie  has 
been  made  to  think  too  much  of  herself.  Her  satirical 
propensities  have  not  been  checked.  She  has  had  no 
match  for  her  cleverness.  Highbury  has  afforded  her  no 
equal  as  a  friend.  Her  father  has  doted  on  her  and  seen 
nothing  in  her  but  perfection.  Her  governess  has  been 
too  fond  of  her  to  play  a  governess's  part.  One  clear- 
sighted critic  and  faithful  monitor  she  has  had  in  the 
person  of  her  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Knightley,  of  Donwell 
Abbey,  to  whom  the  rapturous  description  of  her  beauty 
just  quoted  is  addressed  by  Mrs.  Weston.  He  is  Emma's 
senior  by  sixteen  years,  and  when  she  playfully  challenges 
his  right  of  censorship,  tells  her  that  he  has  the  advan- 
tage of  her  not  only  in  those  sixteen  years,  but  in  not 


120  LIFE  OF 

being  a  pretty  woman.  He  is  a  model  of  honour  and 
good  sense,  as  well  as  a  perfect  gentleman  in  appearance 
and  manner.  He  has  also  a  vein  of  sarcastic  humour. 
Emma  regards  him  with  the  utmost  affection  and  respect- 
He  feels  a  loving  interest  in  Emma,  sees  her  weak  points, 
and  wonders  what  will  become  of  her.  What  will  become 
of  her  she  has  herself  hardly  begun  to  think.  She  is 
mistress  of  Hartfield,  and  devoted  to  her  father,  who 
dotes  on  her  in  return. 

Emma  fancies  that  she  has  resolved  not  to  marry. 
She  cannot  leave  her  father.  But  she  busies  herself  in 
making  matches  for  others,  a  propensity  against  which 
Knightley  has  warned  her.  This,  with  her  vanity,  of 
which  indeed  it  is  a  part,  gets  her  into  a  scrape  which  is 
the  most  amusing  part  of  the  tale.  At  the  ladies'  school 
in  Highbury  kept  by  Mrs.  Goddard,  there  is  a  parlour- 
boarder  named  Harriet  Smith,  of  whom  nothing  is 
known  except  that  she  is  the  illegitimate  daughter  of 
somebody  who  has  consigned  her  to  Mrs.  Goddard's  care. 
She  is  a  pretty,  simpleminded,  commonplace  girl,  with 
soft  look,  blue  eyes,  and  humble-minded  till  her  ambition 
is  artificially  excited.  For  want  of  a  more  equal  and 
suitable  friendship,  Emma  Woodhouse  takes  up  Harriet 
Smith  and  undertakes  to  improve  her  tastes,  form  her 
manners,  and  find  her  a  good  match.  Mr.  Knightley's  saga- 
city frowns  on  the  connection  from  the  beginning,  though 
Mrs.  Weston's  indulgence  approves  it.  Mr.  Knightley 
rightly  judges  that  Harriet  is  the  worst  kind  of  com- 
panion that  Emma  could  have,  because,  knowing  nothing 
herself,  she  thinks  that  Emma  knows  everything.  "  Her 
ignorance  and  inferiority  are  hourly  flattery,  and  of  all 


JANE  AUSTEN.  121 

flatteries  the  worst  because  undesigned."    Harriet  already 
has  a  lover  in  the  person  of  Robert  Martin,  a  worthy 
young  gentleman  farmer  and  the  tenant  of  Mr.  Knight- 
ley's  home  farm,  with  whose  family  she  has  been  staying, 
and  she  is  evidently  disposed  to  return  his  love.     But  a 
match  with  a  yeoman  is  beneath  a  girl  honoured  by  the 
friendship  of  Miss  Emma  Woodhouse.     Emma  sets  her- 
self to  wean  Harriet  from  the  attachment  and  to  teach 
her  to  look  higher.     The  object  to  which  she  turns  her 
eyes  is  Mr.  Elton,  the  new  vicar  of  Highbury,  a  most 
beautiful  young  man  and  the  social  idol  of  the  village. 
His  company  is  so  sought  after  that  he  has  more  invita- 
tions than  there  are  days  in  the  week,  and  so  excellent  is 
his  performance  in   the  church   that   Miss   Nash,    the 
teacher,  has  put  down  all  the  texts  that  he  has  preached 
from.     The  first  time  Harriet  saw  him,  "  the  two  Abbotts 
and  she  ran  into  the  front  room  and  peeped  through  the 
blind  when  they  heard  he  was  going  by,  and  Miss  Nash 
came  and  scolded  them  away  and  stayed  to  look  through 
herself."     Only,  the  critical  Mr.  Knightley  remarks,  that 
while  Elton  can  be  rational  with  men,  to  women  he  is  so 
laboriously  agreeable  that  "  every  feature  works  "  in  the 
effort  to  please.     This  clerical  Adonis  is  perfectly  con- 
scious of  his  own  merit  and  value  in  the  marriage  mart, 
as  Emma  and  her  Harriet  will  find  to  their  cost.    Emma 
does  everything  she  can  to  bring  Harriet  and  Mr.  Elton 
together.     To  herself  she  appears  successful,  though  the 
reader  has  his  suspicions.     She  paints  Harriet's  portrait. 
Mr.  Elton  is  in  ecstasies,  and  himself  carries  it  to  London 
to  be  framed,  giving  up  the  whist  club  for  the  purpose. 
Harriet   is   collecting   riddles,       Mr.    Elton   writes    an 


122  LIFE  OF 

amatory  conundrum  which  appears  to  be  pointed  at 
Harriet,  though  it  contains  a  suspicious  compliment  to 
"  ready  wit."  In  the  meantime,  Robert  Martin  proposes 
in  a  letter  which,  as  Emma  is  obliged  to  admit,  expresses 
good  sense,  warm  attachment,  Uberality,  propriety,  and 
dehcacy  of  feeling.  Harriet,  if  left  to  herself,  evidently 
would  accept,  but  under  Emma's  influence  she  refuses, 
Emma  virtually  dictating  her  reply.  This  is  not  a  very 
agreeable  part  of  the  story.  Whether  the  writer  intended 
it  or  not,  Emma  in  breaking  off  the  connection  between 
Robert  Martin  and  Harriet  shows  not  only  want  of 
judgment  but  want  of  feeling.  Her  notions  of  social 
grade,  and  her  dislike  of  the  yeomanry  as  a  class  which 
she  can  neither  associate  with  nor  patronize,  also  shock 
us,  though  they  might  have  been  less  offensive  in  those 
more  aristocratic  days.  We  are  glad  to  know  from  the 
kindliness  with  which  the  yeoman  is  painted  that  the 
sentiment  is  that  of  Miss  Emma  Woodhouse,  not  that  of 
Miss  Jane  Austen.  Mr.  Knightley,  who  has  a  high 
opinion  of  Martin  and  had  been  his  adviser  on  the 
occasion,  is  highly  displeased  at  Emma's  conduct,  and 
his  displeasure  is  most  just. 

Its  justice  soon  appears.  The  catastrophe  is  at  hand. 
It  is  not  to  Harriet  that  Mr.  Elton's  addresses  have 
been  really  paid,  but  to  Emma  herself.  He  has  dared  to 
aspire  to  the  hand  of  the  great  lady  and  the  great  match 
of  Highbury.  The  transports  into  which  he  threw  him- 
self over  the  portrait  were  in  fact  directed  not  to  its 
subject  but  to  the  artist.  Emma  was  really  the  lady  of  the 
riddle.  Finding  himself  by  a  propitious  accident  shut 
up  in  a  carriage  with  Emma   on  their   return  from  a 


JANE  AUSTEN.  123 

dinner-party  at  Mr.  Weston's,  he  astounds  and  horrifies 
her  by  pouring  forth  his  love.  It  marks  the  manners  of 
the  time  that  at  first  she  fancies  he  is  drunk.  When  she 
intimates  that  it  was  to  her  friend  that  his  intentions  were 
supposed  to  be  addressed,  he  speaks  of  the  friend  with 
rude  disdain.  His  audacious  suit  is  of  course  rejected. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  makes  good  his  estimate  of  himself 
as  a  match  by  going  to  Bath  and  there  securing  the  hand 
of  the  dashing  and  accomplished  Miss  Augusta  Hawkins, 
who  has  a  reputed  fortune  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  and 
whose  married  sister,  Mrs.  Suckling,  lives  at  Maple 
Grove  and  keeps  a  barouche-landau.  He  brings  his 
bride  to  Highbury  amidst  universal  excitement  and 
almost  universal  applause. 

Emma  now  rues  her  match-making.  She  has  to 
undergo  the  bitter  penance  of  undeceiving  Harriet  about 
Mr.  Elton,  while  she  has  great  difficulty  in  stifling  the 
voice  of  her  conscience,  which  reproaches  her  with  her 
error  in  having  broken  off  Harriet's  connection  with 
Robert  Martin.  Harriet  being  lowly-minded  and  having 
only  dared  to  lift  her  eyes  to  Mr.  Elton  because  Emma 
encouraged  her,  takes  the  wreck  of  her  hope  well,  but 
she  does  not  get  Mr.  Elton  entirely  out  of  her  heart  till 
he  is  married  and  another  fancy  has  taken  possession  of 
her  mind.     Then  we  have  the  following  scene  : 

"  A  very  few  days  had  passed  after  this  adventure,  when  Harriet 
came  one  morning  to  Emma  with  a  small  parcel  in  her  hand,  and 
after  sitting  down  and  hesitating,  thus  began  : — 

"  '  Miss  Woodhouse — if  you  are  at  leisure,  I  have  something  that 
I  should  like  to  tell  you  ;  a  sort  of  confession  to  make — and  then, 
you  know,  it  will  be  over.' 


124  LIFE  OF 

"Emma  was  a  good  deal  surprised;  but  begged  her  to  speak. 
There  was  a  seriousness  in  Harriet's  manner  which  prepared  her, 
quite  as  much  as  her  words,  for  something  more  than  ordinary. 

"  '  It  is  my  duty,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  my  wish,'  she  continued, 
'  to  have  no  reserves  with  you  on  this  subject.  As  I  am,  happily, 
quite  an  altered  creature,  in  one  respect,  it  is  very  fit  that  you  should 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  it.  I  do  not  want  to  say  more 
than  is  necessary ;  I  am  too  much  ashamed  of  having  given  way 
as  I  have  done,  and  I  dare  say  you  understand  me.' 
"  '  Yes,'  said  Emma,  '  I  hope  I  do.' 

''  '  How  I  could  so  long  a  time  be  fancying  myself — '  cried  Harriet, 
warmly.  '  It  seems  like  madness  !  I  can  see  nothing  at  all  extra- 
ordinary in  him  now.  I  do  not  care  whether  I  meet  him  or  not, 
except  that,  of  the  two,  I  had  rather  not  see  him ;  and,  indeed,  I  would 
go  any  distance  round  to  avoid  him  ;  but  I  do  not  envy  his  wife  in 
the  least :  I  neither  admire  her  nor  envy  her,  as  I  have  done.  She 
is  very  charming,  I  dare  say,  and  all  that ;  but  I  think  her  very  ill- 
tempered  and  disagreeable  :  I  shall  never  forget  her  look  ihe  other 
night.  However,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Woodhouse,  I  wish  her  no 
evil.  No ;  let  them  be  ever  so  happy  together,  it  will  not  give  me 
another  moment's  pang ;  and,  to  convince  you  that  I  have  been 
speaking  truth,  I  am  going  to  destroy — what  I  ought  to  have 
destroyed  longed  ago — what  I  ought  never  to  have  kept  :  I  know 
that  very  well  (blushing  as  she  spoke).  However,  now  I  will  destroy 
it  all ;  and  it  is  my  particular  wish  to  do  it  in  your  presence,  that 
you  may  see  how  rational  I  am  grown.  Cannot  you  guess  what  this 
parcel  holds?'  said  she,  with  a  conscious  look. 

"  '  Not  the  least  in  the  world.     Did  he  ever  give  you  anything  ?  ' 
"  '  No — I  cannot  call  them  gifts ;  but  they  are  things  that  I  have 
valued  very  much. ' 

"  She  held  the  parcel  towards  her,  and  Emma  read  the  words 
'Most  precious  treasures,'  on  the  lop.  Ilcr  curiosity  was  greatly 
excited.  Harriet  unfolded  the  parcel,  and  she  looked  on  with 
impatience.  Within  abundance  of  silver  paper  was  a  pretty  little 
Tunbridge-warc  box,  which  Harriet  opened  :  it  was  well  lined  witli 
the  softest  cotton ;  but,  excepting  tiie  cotton,  Emma  saw  only  a 
small  piece  of  court-plaister. 

"  '  Now,'  said  Harriet,  'you  must  recollect.' 


JANE  AUSTEN.  125 

'< '  No,  indeed  I  do  not.' 

♦* '  Dear  me  !  I  should  not  have  thought  it  possible  you  could  for- 
get what  passed  in  this  very  room  about  court-plaister,  one  of  the 
very  last  times  we  ever  met  in  it.  It  was  but  a  very  few  days  before 
I  had  my  sore  throat— just  before  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Knightley 
came  ;  I  think  the  very  evening.  Do  you  not  remember  his  cutting 
his  finger  with  your  new  penknife,  and  your  recommending  court- 
plaister  ?  But,  as  you  had  none  about  you,  and  knew  I  had,  you 
desired  me  to  supply  him  ;  and  so  I  took  mine  out,  and  cut  him  a 
piece  :  but  it  was  a  great  deal  too  large,  and  he  cut  it  smaller,  and 
kept  playing  some  time  with  what  was  left  before  he  gave  It  back  to 
me.  And  so  then,  in  my  nonsense,  I  could  not  help  making  a 
treasure  of  it :  so  I  put  it  by,  never  to  be  used,  and  looked  at  it  now 
and  then  as  a  great  treat.' 

"  '  My  dearest  Harriet ! '  cried  Emma,  putting  her  hand  before  her 
face  and  jumping  up,  'you  make  me  more  ashamed  of  myself  than 
I  can  bear.  Remember  it  ?  Ay,  I  remember  it  all  now  ;  all,  except 
your  saving  this  relic  :  I  knew  nothing  of  that  till  this  moment,— 
but  the  cutting  the  finger,  and  my  recommending  court-plaister,  and 
saying  I  had  none  about  me. — Oh  !  my  sins,  my  sins ! — And  I  had 
plenty  all  the  while  in  my  pocket !  One  of  my  senseless  tricks.  I 
deserve  to  be  under  a  continual  blush  all  the  rest  of  my  life.  Well 
(sitting  down  again),  go  on  :    what  else?  ' 

"  '  And  had  you  really  some  at  hand  yourself?  I  am  sure  I  never 
suspected  it,  you  did  it  so  naturally.' 

"  '  And  so  you  actually  put  this  piece  of  court-plaister  by  for  his 
sake?'  said  Emma,  recovering  from  her  slate  of  shame  and  feeling, 
divided  between  wonder  and  amusement ;  and  secretly  she  added  to 
herself,  '  Lord  bless  me  !  when  should  I  ever  have  thought  of  putting 
by  in  cotton  a  piece  of  court-plaister  that  Frank  Churchill  had  been 
pulling  about  !     I  never  was'equal  to  this. ' 

"'Here,'  resumed  Harriet,  turning  to  her  box  again,  'here  is 
something  still  more  valuable, — I  mean  that  has  been  more  valuable, 
— because  this  is  what  did  really  once  belong  to  him,  which  the 
court-plaister  never  did.' 

"  Emma  was  quite  eager  to  see  this  superior  treasure.  It  was  the 
end  of  an  old  pencil,  the  part  without  any  lead. 

"'This  was  really  his,'  said  Harriet.     'Do  not  you  remember 


126  LIFE  OF 

one  morning  ? — no,  I  dare  say  you  do  not.  But  one  morning — I 
forget  exactly  the  day — but  perhaps  it  was  the  Tuesday  or  Wednesday 
before  that  evening,  he  wanted  to  make  a  memorandum  in  his  pocket- 
book  ;  it  was  about  spruce-beer.  Mr.  Knightley  had  been  telling 
him  something  about  brewing  spruce-beer,  and  he  wanted  to  put  it 
down  ;  but  when  he  took  out  his  pencil,  there  was  so  little  lead  that 
he  soon  cut  it  all  away,  and  it  would  not  do,  so  you  lent  him  another, 
and  this  was  left  upon  the  table  as  good  for  nothing.  But  I  kept 
my  eye  on  it ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  dared,  caught  it  up,  and  never  parted 
with  it  again  from  that  moment.' 

"'I  do  remember  it,'  cried  Emma;  'I  perfectly  remember  it. 
Talking  about  spruce-beer.  Oh  !  yes.  Mr.  Knightley  and  I  both 
saying  we  liked  it,  and  Mr.  Elton's  seeming  resolved  to  learn  to 
like  it  too.  I  perfectly  remember  it.  Stop — Mr.  Knightley  was 
standing  just  here,  was  not  he  ?  I  have  an  idea  he  was  standing 
just  here.' 

"'Ah  !  I  do  not  know.  I  cannot  recollect.  It  is  very  odd,  but 
I  cannot  recollect.  Mr.  Elton  was  sitting  here,  I  remember,  much 
about  where  I  am  now.' 

'"Well,  goon.' 

"'Oh!  that's  all.  I  have  nothing  more  to  show  you,  or  to  say, 
except  that  I  am  now  going  to  throw  them  both  behind  the  fire,  and 
I  wish  you  to  see  me  do  it.' 

"  '  My  poor  dear  Harriet !  and  have  you  actually  found  happiness 
in  treasuring  up  these  things  ?  ' 

"'Yes,  simpleton  as  I  was  ! — but  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  it  now, 
and  wish  I  could  forget  as  easily  as  I  can  burn  them.  It  was  very 
wrong  of  me,  you  know,  to  keep  any  remembrances  after  he  was 
married.  I  knew  it  was — but  had  not  resolution  enough  to  part 
with  them.' 

"  '  But,  Harriet,  is  it  necessary  to  burn  the  court-plaister  ?  I  have 
not  a  word  to  say  for  the  bit  of  old  pencil,  but  the  court-plaister 
might  be  useful.' 

"  'I  shall  be  happier  to  burn  it,'  cried  Harriet.  '  It  has  a  dis- 
agreeable look  to  me.  I  must  get  rid  of  everything.  There  it  goes, 
and  there  is  an  end,  thank  Heaven  !  of  Mr.  Elton.' 


> )) 


The  Mr.  Frank  Churchill  here  mentioned  is  the  young 


JANE  AUSTEN.  127 

man  whom  destiny  seems  to  have  provided  for  Emma 
herself.  He  is  the  son  of  Mr.  Weston  by  a  former 
marriage,  and  has  been  adopted  by  wealthy  relatives  in 
Yorkshire  whose  name  he  has  taken,  and  whose  fortune 
he  is  to  inherit.  He  has  been  always  coming  to  High- 
bury, but  has  never  come,  being  prevented,  as  he  says,  by 
the  tyrannical  caprice  of  Mrs.  Churchill,  who  will  not 
let  him  leave  her  side.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  have 
however,  filled  Highbury  with  the  report  of  his  perfec- 
tions, and  they  have  been  cherishing  the  hope  of  a 
match  between  him  and  Emma.  At  last  he  comes, 
and  he  proves  to  be  in  person,  manners  and  conversa- 
tion everything  that  Highbury  believed  him  to  be,  and 
becomes  generally  popular.  Mr.  Knightley  alone,  who 
had  conceived  a  prejudice  against  the  young  man  before 
his  arrival,  remains  rather  unaccountably  set  against  him. 
To  Emma,  who  had  felt  a  natural  interest  in  him  before- 
hand, he  pays  the  most  marked  attention.  Emma 
receives  the  attentions  with  pleasure,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Weston  think  that  their  hope  is  going  to  be  fulfilled. 
But  Emma,  though  at  one  time  on  the  brink  of  love,  does 
not  go  beyond  the  brink. 

Mr.  Frank  Churchill's  arrival,  however,  had  been 
immediately  followed  by  that  of  Miss  Jane  Fairfax, 
who  came  to  stay  with  her  grandmother  and  aunt,  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Bates,  at  Highbury.  Miss  Fairfax  is  very  beauti- 
ful and  highly  accomplished,  but  she  is  a  child  of  mis- 
fortune. She  has  been  brought  up  by  charitable  friends, 
and  is  now,  as  it  is  given  out,  going  to  earn  bitter  bread 
as  a  governess.  She  is  demure  and  very  reserved. 
There  is  something  mysterious  about  her.     Apparently 


128  LIFE  OF 

she  has  something  on  her  mind  besides  the  necessity  of 
going  out  as  a  governess.  Emma  dishkes  her,  partly 
because  she  is  tired  of  hearing  the  Bateses  sing  her 
praises,  partly  on  account  of  her  reserve,  partly,  as  the 
censorious  Mr.  Knightley  suggests,  on  account  of  her 
superior  accomplishments.  Jane  has  met  Frank  Churchill 
at  Weymouth,  but  cannot  be  induced  to  talk  about  him. 
For  his  part  he  affects  to  regard  Jane  as  a  mere  acquaint- 
ance, and  in  talking  about  her  to  Emma  criticises  her 
character,  her  complexion,  and  her  way  of  dressing  her 
hair,  as  though  she  were  entirely  indifferent  to  him.  He 
even  seems  to  share  an  injurious  fancy  which  Emma 
had  conceived  about  a  previous  part  of  Jane's  history. 
At  the  same  time  he  goes  a  good  deal,  on  various  pre- 
tences, to  the  house  of  the  Bateses,  which,  as  Mrs.  Bates 
is  deaf  and  her  daughter  is  an  insufferably  garrulous 
old  maid,  he  would  not  be  likely  to  do  without  some 
other  attraction.  To  the  keen  eye  of  Mr.  Knightley, 
an  interchange  of  looks  and  other  signs  of  intelligence 
between  Frank  Churchill  and  Jane  Fairfax  begin  to  be 
visible.  Jane  plays  divinely  on  the  piano,  but  has 
no  instrument.  Frank  Churchill  goes  all  the  way  to 
London  to  have  his  hair  cut.  Immediately  afterwards 
Jane  Fairfax  receives  from  an  unknown  donor  the  gift 
of  a  Broadwood  piano.  Still  Frank  Churchill  continues 
to  flirt  with  Emma,  and  the  hope  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Weston  is  confirmed. 

Other  complications  arise.  Mr.  Knightley,  by  the 
high  opinion  which,  partly  in  opposition  to  Emma's 
prejudice,  he  expresses  of  Jane  Fairfax,  by  his  dchght 
at  her  playing  on  the  piano,  and  by  the  attention  which 


JANE  AUSTEN.  129 

he  shows  her  and  her  aunt  in  sending  his  carriage  to 
take  them  to  a  party,  gives  birth  to  a  behef,  especially 
in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Weston,  that  he  is  falling  in  love 
with  Jane.  He  is  suspected  of  being  the  giver  of  the 
mysterious  piano.  He,  however,  contradicts  and  laughs 
at  the  report  in  a  manner  which  satisfies  Emma,  who 
knows  the  perfect  openness  of  his  character.  But  this, 
as  will  presently  appear,  is  not  the  only  false  impression 
to  which  his  kindness  and  courtesy  give  rise. 

Harriet,  while  she  is  taking  a  walk  with  another  girl, 
is  mobbed  by  a  gang  of  gipsies.  She  is  rescued  by 
Frank  Churchill.  An  interesting  situation  is  thus 
created,  and  Emma,  whose  fancy  is  incorrigibly  match- 
making, and  who  had  already  been  led  to  form  surmises 
in  that  direction,  thinks  that  it  must  lead  to  love.  In 
a  conversation  with  Harriet  on  the  subject,  her  con- 
jecture is  apparently  confirmed,  and  she  goes  away  with 
the  belief  that  Harriet  at  all  events  is  in  love  with 
Frank.  Mindful  of  her  former  misadventure,  she  tries 
to  give  her  friend  sage  counsel,  advises  her  to  check 
his  feelings,  bids  her  be  observant  of  the  object  of 
her  aspirations,  and  let  his  behaviour  be  the  guide  of 
her  sensations.  At  the  same  time  she  owns  that  more 
wonderful  things  have  happened  and  matches  of  greater 
disparity  have  taken  place.  Harriet  has  not  mentioned 
the  name,  and  Emma  in  her  extreme  caution  desires 
that  no  name  may  ever  pass  their  lips.  She  and 
Harriet  are  at  cross- purposes,  as  soon  appears. 

The  plots  runs  on,  with  great  variety  of  social  acci- 
dents and  lively  play  of  character,  through  a  series  of 
scenes,  including  two  dinner-parties,  a   ball,   a  garden- 

9 


130  LIFE  OF 

party  and  a  picnic;  the  subordinate  personages,  Mr. 
Woodhouse,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Knightley,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Elton,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Bates,  performing  their 
several  parts.  The  mystery  of  the  situation  is  all  the 
time  artfully  preserved. 

The  mystery  is  cleared  up  and  the  play  is  brought  to 
its  conclusion  by  the  death  of  the  great  Mrs.  Churchill. 
Frank  Churchill,  being  now  set  free,  avows  a  secret 
engagement  to  Jane  Fairfax.  It  was  in  reality  to  meet 
her  that  he  had  come  to  Highbury.  His  attentions  to 
Emma  had  been  either  a  mere  mask  for  his  connection 
Mith  Jane,  or  an  indulgence  of  his  vanity  and  his  love 
of  amusement.  They  had,  however,  excited  the  jealousy 
of  his  betrothed  enough  to  bring  on  a  quarrel  between 
them  which  made  her  look  in  earnest  for  a  situation 
as  a  governess,  and  to  produce  very  strained  relations 
between  Jane  and  Emma,  so  that  Jane  had  avoided 
Emma's  visits  and  refused  to  take  an  airing  in  the 
Hartfield  carriage  or  to  eat  arrowroot  from  the  Hart- 
field  storeroom.  The  Westons  having  remained  under 
their  fond  delusion,  Emma  is  taken  to  Randalls  by 
Mr.  Weston,  that  his  wife  may  there  break  to  her  what 
they  both  suppose  will  be  dreadful  news.  They  find  to 
their  relief  that  she  is  heart-whole. 

Emma  may  rejoice  in  her  own  escape,  but  she  has 
a  second  time  to  do  penance  for  her  match-making  pro- 
pensities by  breaking  the  sad  news  of  Frank  Churchill's 
engagement  to  her  unlucky  Harriet.  This  she  proceeds 
to  do  ;  but  she  finds  to  her  surprise  that  the  tidings 
have  reached  Harriet  already  and  affect  her  not  at  all. 
The  man  of  whom   Harriet  had  been  speaking  in  her 


JANE  A  USTEN.  131 

last  conversation  with  Emma  was  not  Frank  Churchill^ 
for  whom  she  cares  nothing,  but  one  infinitely  his 
superior.  It  was  Mr.  Knightley,  and  by  Mr.  Knightley, 
she  thinks  she  has  reason  to  hope,  her  affection  is  re- 
turned. Emma  is  thunderstruck.  Harriet  sees  it,  and 
acknowledges  that  Mr.  Knightley  is  far  above  her,  but 
reminds  Emma  of  her  own  encouraging  words  about 
the  possible  occurrence  of  marriages  of  disparity,  and 
hopes  that  Emma  is  too  good  to  oppose  the  match. 
Instantly  the  state  of  Emma's  own  heart  is  revealed  to 
her.  Why  was  it  so  much  worse  that  Harriet  should  be 
in  love  with  Mr.  Knightley  than  with  Frank  Churchill  ? 
Why  was  the  evil  so  dreadfully  increased  by  Harriet's 
having  reason  to  hope  that  her  affection  was  returned  ? 
"  It  darted  through  her  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  that 
Mr.  Knightley  must  marry  no  one  but  herself." 

Harriet,  however,  is  ready  with  her  proofs.  Emma 
had  told  her  to  observe  the  gentleman's  demeanour,  and 
she  has  observed  it.  At  the  ball,  when  Mr.  Elton  had 
rudely  refused  to  dance  with  Harriet  and  she  was  left 
forlorn,  Mr.  Knightley  had  come  to  the  rescue  and  been 
her  partner.  At  the  garden-party  at  his  house  he  had 
walked  with  her  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  company.  It 
is  true,  too,  that  he  has  been  speaking  with  pleasure  of 
the  improvement  which  he  found  in  Harriet,  and  he 
seemed  to  like  her  society.  Emma  is  plunged  in  misery, 
and  her  suffering  is  all  the  greater  because  she  owes  it 
partly  to  her  own  folly  in  having  excited  and  encouraged 
Harriet's  ambition,  though  she  had  little  dreamed  that 
her  own  Mr.  Knightley  was  its  mark. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Harriet  is  totally  mistaken. 


132  LIFE  OF 

Mr.  Knightley  has  never  thought  of  her.  He  danced 
with  her  at  the  ball  out  of  compassion  and  courtesy. 
When  he  took  her  for  a  walk  with  him  at  Donwell  it  was 
to  show  her  an  attractive  view  of  Robert  Martin's  farm. 
If  he  has  sought  to  improve  his  acquaintance  with  her  it 
has  been  in  the  hope  of  bringing  her  and  Martin  together 
again.  His  real  attraction  has  been  to  Emma,  as  Emma's 
has  been  to  him.  Friendship  on  both  sides  has  been 
gradually  warmed  and  ripened  into  love.  Of  this,  looking 
back,  we  sec  that  there  have  been  intimations  all  along. 
At  the  ball  Emma  cannot  bear  that  Mr.  Knightley 
should,  instead  of  standing  up  to  dance,  be  classing 
himself  with  the  fathers  and  husbands  and  whist-players, 
so  young  as  he  looked.  "  His  tall,  upright,  firm  figure 
among  the  bulky  forms  and  stooping  shoulders  of  the 
elderly  men  was  such  as  Emma  felt  must  draw  every- 
body's eyes."  Later  in  the  evening,  when  he  has  been 
dancing  with  Harriet  Smith,  and  Mr.  Weston  is  heard 
calling  on  them  to  begin  dancing  again — 

"  'I  am  ready,'  said  Emma,  'whenever  I  am  wanted.' 

"  '  Whom  are  you  going  to  dance  with  ?  '  asked  Mr. 
Knightley. 

"  She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  replied,  '  With 
you,  if  you  will  ask  me.' 

"  '  Will  you  ?  '  said  he,  offering  his  hand. 

"  '  Indeed  I  will.  You  have  shown  that  you  can 
dance,  and  you  know  that  we  are  really  not  so  much 
brother  and  sister  as  to  make  it  at  all  improper.' 

"  '  Brother  and  sister  !  no,  indeed.'  " 

The  prejudice  which  Knightley,  usually  so  just, 
allowed  himself  to  form  against  Frank  Churchill  before 


JANE  AUSTEN.  183 

he  had  seen  him,  was  in  fact  unconscious  jealousy  twin- 
born  with  unconscious  love.  Emma's  disturbance  when 
it  was  supposed  that  Knightley  was  falling  in  love  with 
Jane  Fairfax,  and  her  anxiety  to  prove  that  the  belief 
was  false,  were  corresponding  indications  on  her  side. 

Believing  that  Emma  had  given  her  hand  to  Frank 
Churchill,  Knightley  had  left  home  and  gone  to  stay 
with  his  brother  and  sister-in-law  in  London,  where, 
however,  the  picture  of  wedded  happiness  only  added  a 
sting  to  his  sorrow.  Returning  to  Highbury  when  Frank 
Churchill's  engagement  to  Jane  Fairfax  has  been  de- 
clared, he  calls  at  Hartfield  in  his  character  of  friend 
and  counsellor  to  comfort  Emma.  To  his  surprise  and 
delight,  he  finds  that,  so  far  as  Frank  Churchill  is  con- 
cerned, she  needs  no  comfort.  To  her  surprise  and 
delight,  as  they  are  walking  together  in  the  shrubbery 
he  tells  his  love,  and  misery  gives  place  to  perfect 
happiness.  They  go  in,  an  engaged  couple,  to  tea  with 
Mr.  Woodhouse,  who,  little  suspecting  that  the  man  is 
going  to  rob  him  of  his  Emma,  expresses  his  anxious 
hope  that  he  may  not  have  caught  cold  from  the  damp- 
ness of  the  evening.  "  Could  he  have  seen  into  the 
heart,  he  would  have  cared  very  little  for  the  lungs." 
It  is  a  really  charming  scene. 

Knightley  and  Emma  are  in  bliss.  But  poor  Harriet 
Smith  is  cast  out  of  it  a  second  time.  Amidst  the  glow 
of  happiness  brought  on  by  Knightley's  declaration, 
Emma  had  time  to  rejoice  that  Harriet's  secret  had  not 
escaped  her,  and  to  resolve  that  it  never  should.  But 
we  are  called  upon  specially  to  remark  that  she  had  not 
any  of  that  "heroism   of  sentiment,"  tliat   "generosity 


134  LIFE  OF 

run  mad,"  which  could  lead  her  for  a  moment  to  think 
of  trying  to  transfer  Knightley's  affections  to  her  friend, 
or  of  refusing  him  because  he  could  not  marry  them 
both,  as  the  heroines  of  romantic  fiction  might  have 
done.  But  Harriet,  as  might  have  been  foreseen,  is 
united  to  her  Robert  Martin. 

Nor  is  Mr.  Woodhouse  forgotten.  His  consternation 
of  course  is  extreme.  Emma,  the  best  of  daughters, 
cannot  think  of  leaving  her  father.  But  Mr.  Knightley 
promises  to  leave  Donwell  and  live  at  Hartfield.  A 
robbery  which  providentially  takes  place  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood makes  the  nervous  old  gentleman  feel  the  need 
of  a  stout  protector,  and  he  allows  the  marriage  to  take 
place  without  delay. 

Lord  Brabourne  cannot  endure  Knightley,  thinks  that 
he  interferes  too  much,  judges  other  people  too  quickly 
and  too  harshly,  that  he  is  too  old  for  Emma,  and  that 
there  is  something  incongruous  in  her  marrying  the  elder 
brother  of  her  elder  sister's  husband.  He  thinks  that 
Knightley  does  not  rise  above  the  standard  of  respect- 
ability, that  he  is  too  respectable  to  be  a  hero  at  all.  He 
is  certain  "  that  Emma  was  not  nearly  so  happy  as  she 
pretended,  that  her  husband  frequently  lectured  her,  was 
jealous  of  every  agreeable  man  that  ventured  to  say  a 
civil  word  to  her,  and  evinced  his  intellectual  superiority 
by  such  a  plethora  of  eminently  sensible  conversations 
as  either  speedily  hurried  her  to  an  untimely  grave  or 
induced  her  to  run  away  with  somebody  possessed  of  an 
inferior  intellect  but  more  endearing  qualities."  The 
woman  judged  otherwise,  and  we  feel  pretty  sure  that 
her  judgment  was  right.     The  vine  had  found  its  sup- 


JANE  A  USTEN.  185 

porting  elm,  and  we  do  not  believe  that  the  elm  ever 
lectured  its  encircling  vine,  much  less  that  it  lectured  in 
such  a  style  as  to  cause  untimely  death  or  elopement. 
We  have  some  misgivings,  however,  as  to  the  final  per- 
sistence of  Mrs.  Knightley  never  to  tell  Mr.  Knightley 
Harriet  Smith's  secret,  especially  as  Mr.  Martin's  farm 
was  in  sight  from  the  lime-walk  of  Donwell  Abbey. 

"Emma"  is  very  rich  in  character,  especially  in  the 
comic  varieties,  and  in  the  social  incident  by  which  cha- 
racter is  brought  out.  Highbury,  just  as  Highbury  was 
in  those  quiet  days,  lives  and  acts  before  us. 

Mr.  Woodhouse's  valetudinarianism  is  perhaps  a  little 
overdone,  as  when  he  proposes  to  a  whole  party  to  join 
him  in  a  little  water  gruel,  and  his  nervous  tremors 
about  the  weather,  open  doors  and  dangerous  corners  in 
driving,  would  be  extreme  in  the  picture  of  an  old  lady, 
and  are  scarcely  credible  in  a  picture  of  an  old  gentle- 
man. Still  he  is  excellent  fun.  His  benevolence  leads 
him  to  watch  not  only  over  his  own  digestion,  but  over 
the  digestion  of  his  friends ;  and  his  daughter  has  to  take 
care  that  he  does  not  out  of  sheer  kindness  starve  his 
guests,  and  that  when  she  has  provided  a  good  dinner  or 
supper  her  friends  are  permitted  to  eat  it.  He  tenderly 
reproaches  her  with  having  allowed  the  muffin  to  be 
handed  round  more  than  once.  His  horror  of  marriage, 
which  disturbs  the  even  tenor  of  his  life,  is  interrupted 
by  his  fear  of  wedding-cake,  which  he  vainly  tries  to  pre- 
vent everybody  from  eating,  having  armed  himself  with 
the  formal  opinion  of  his  medical  oracle,  Mr.  Parry,  that 
wedding-cake,  unless  eaten  in  moderation,  may  disagree 
with  most  people.     When  Emma  goes  out  to  a  party. 


136  LIFE  OF 

leaving  Mrs.  Goddard  and  Mrs.  Bates  to  spend  the 
evening  with  her  father,  and  having  provided  a  good 
supper  for  the  two  old  ladies,  who  do  not  get  good 
suppers  at  home,  we  at  once  foresee  what  will  happen. 
It  does  happen  :  the  sweetbread  and  asparagus,  of  which 
Mrs.  Bates  happened  to  be  particularly  fond,  are  pro- 
nounced not  cooked  enough  and  are  sent  away,  while  the 
two  old  ladies  are  regaled  on  baked  apples  and  biscuits. 
Yet  nobody,  not  even  his  strong-minded  and  somewhat 
sarcastic  son-in-law,  John  Knightley,  has  a  word  of  any- 
thing but  respect  and  regard  for  Mr.  Woodhouse.  He 
owes  this  in  part  to  his  social  position,  mainly  to  his 
genuine  kindness  and  courtesy,  while  Emma's  devotion 
is  in  itself  enough  to  keep  ridicule  at  bay.  His  other 
daughter,  Isabella,  wrapped  up  in  her  husband  and 
children,  and,  if  not  a  valetudinarian,  fully  entering  into 
Mr.  Woodhouse's  valetudinarianism,  is  more  her  father's 
child,  while  Emma  is  apparently  more  the  child  of  the 
lost  mother.  The  same  skill  is  shown  in  making  the 
distinction  between  the  characters  of  the  two  brothers 
Knightley,  the  two  being  cast  in  the  same  mould  and 
equal  in  general  worth,  but  that  of  the  elder  being 
superior  in  depth,  tenderness,  and  refinement  to  that  of 
the  younger,  who  perhaps,  as  a  lawyer,  has  something  of 
professional  hardness. 

The  Eltons  arc  also  excellent — Mr.  Elton,  the  clerical 
Adonis  and  the  idol  of  school-teachers  and  school-oirls, 
thoroughly  conscious  of  his  own  perfections  and  filled 
with  disgust  at  tlic  thought  of  his  being  deemed  not  too 
good  for  Harriet  Smith ;  Mrs.  Elton,  accomplished  and 
dashing,  but  intensely  conceited,  pushing   and  ill-bred. 


JANE  AUSTEN.  137 

always  boasting  of  her  relations  to  the  Sucklings,  their 
Maple  Grove  and  their  barouche-landau,  coolly  seating 
herself  as  soon  as  she  sets  foot  in  Highbury  by  the  side 
of  Emma  on  the  social  throne,  surprised  to  find  that  the 
person  who  had  brought  Emma  up  was  "  quite  a  gentle- 
woman," talking  of  "Knightley,"  making  herself  the  centre 
of  everything,  patronizing  everybody,  and  promising  to 
find  Jane  Fairfax  a  situation  as  governess  in  a  family 
where  they  have  wax  candles  in  the  schoolroom. 
"  Insufferable  woman  "  is  the  reflection  which  naturally 
bursts  from  Emma  after  their  first  interview.  But  to  the 
reader  Mrs.  Elton  is  very  far  from  being  insufferable. 

But  no  character  in  the  tale  is  more  amusing  than 
that  of  Miss  Bates,  the  worthy  old  maid,  happy  in  eking 
out  a  narrow  income  and  taking  care  of  a  failing  mother, 
universally  popular  from  her  effusive  goodness  of  heart, 
and  at  the  same  time  supremely  ridiculous  from  the 
confusion  which  reigns  in  her  brain  and  is  poured  forth 
by  her  voluble  tongue.  Mr.  Woodhouse,  whom,  as  a 
quiet  talker  upon  little  matters  and  a  retailer  of  harmless 
gossip,  she  exactly  suits,  has  sent  her  a  present  of  Hart- 
field  pork,  with  anxious  directions  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  it  is  to  be  cooked.  At  the  same  time  arrives  the 
news  that  Mr.  Elton  is  going  to  be  married.  Miss  Bates 
rushes  in,  overflowing  at  once  with  excitement  about 
the  news  and  with  gratitude  for  the  present  of  pork. 

"  Full  of  thanks,  and  full  of  news,  Miss  Bates  knew  not  which 
to  give  quickest.  Mr.  Knightley  soon  saw  that  he  had  lost  his 
moment,  and  that  not  another  syllable  of  communication  could  rest 
with  him. 

"*0h,  my  dear  sir,  how  are  you  this  morning?     My  dear  Miss 


138  LIFE  OF 

Woodhouse — I  come  quite  overpowered.  Such  a  beautiful  hind- 
quarter  of  pork  !  You  are  too  bountiful?  Have  you  heard  the 
news?     Mr.  Elton  is  going  to  be  married.' 

"  Emma  had  not  had  time  even  to  think  of  Mr.  Elton,  and  she 
was  so  completely  surprised  that  she  could  not  avoid  a  little  start, 
and  a  little  blush,  at  the  sound. 

"  'There  is  my  news — I  thought  it  would  interest  you,'  said  Mr. 
Knightley,  with  a  smile,  which  implied  a  conviction  of  some  part  of 
what  had  passed  between  them. 

"'But  where  could  yoti  hear  it?'  cried  Miss  Bates.  'Where 
could  you  possibly  hear  it,  Mr.  Knightley?  For  it  is  not  five  minutes 
since  I  received  Mrs.  Cole's  note — no,  it  cannot  be  more  than  five 
— or  at  least  ten — for  I  had  got  my  bonnet  and  spencer  on,  just  ready 
to  come  out — I  was  only  gone  down  to  speak  to  Patty  again  about 
the  pork — ^Jane  was  standing  in  the  passage — were  you  not,  Jane? — 
for  my  mother  was  so  afraid  that  we  had  not  any  salting-pan  large 
enough.  So  I  said  I  would  go  down  and  see,  and  Jane  said,  "  Shall 
I  go  down  instead  ?  for  I  think  you  have  a  little  cold,  and  Patty  has 
been  washing  the  kitchen." — "Oh,  my  dear," — said  I — well,  and 
just  then  came  the  note.  A  Miss  Hawkins — that's  all  I  know.  A 
Miss  Hawkins  of  Bath.  But,  Mr.  Knightley,  how  could  you  possibly 
have  heard  it?  for  the  very  moment  Mr.  Cole  told  Mrs.  Cole  of  it, 
she  sat  down  and  wrote  to  me.     A  Miss  Hawkins ' 

"  '  I  was  with  Mr.  Cole  on  business  an  hour  and  a  half  ago.  Pie 
had  just  read  Elton's  letter  as  I  was  shown  in,  and  handed  it  to  me 
directly.' 

*' '  Well !  that  is  quite — I  suppose  there  never  was  a  piece  of  news 
more  generally  interesting.  My  dear  sir,  you  are  really  too  bountiful. 
My  mother  desires  her  very  best  compliments  and  regards,  and  a 
thousand  thanks,  and  says  you  really  quite  oppress  her.' 

"  'We  consider  our  Ilartfield  pork,'  replied  Mr.  Woodhouse — 
'  indeed  it  certainly  is,  so  very  superior  to  all  other  pork,  that 
Emma  and  I  cannot  have  a  greater  pleasure  than ' 

"  'Oh,  my  dear  sir,  as  my  mother  says,  our  friends  are  only  too 
good  to  us.  If  ever  there  were  people  who,  without  having  great 
wealth  tlicmselves,  had  everything  they  could  wisli  for,  I  am  sure  it 
is  us.  We  may  well  say  that  "our  lot  is  cast  in  a  goodly  heritage." 
Well,  Mr.  Knightley,  and  so  you  actually  saw  the  letter — well ' 


JANE  AUSTEN.  1S9 

"  '  It  was  short — merely  to  announce — but  cheerful,  exulting,  of 
course.'  Here  was  a  sly  glance  at  Emma.  '  He  had  been  so  for- 
tunate as  to — I  forget  the  precise  words — one  has  no  business  to 
remember  them.  The  information  was,  as  you  state,  that  he  was 
going  to  be  married  to  a  Miss  Hawkins.  By  his  style  I  should 
imagine  it  just  settled.'  " 

The  hand  which  drew  Miss  Bates,  though  it  could  not 
have  drawn  Lady  Macbeth,  could  have  drawn  Dame 
Quickly  or  the  nurse  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THERE  is  a  tradition  that  among  a  party  of  distin- 
guished literary  men  who  had  met  in  a  country 
house  and  were  discussing  the  merits  of  different  authors, 
it  was  proposed  that  each  should  write  down  the  name 
of  the  work  of  fiction  which  had  given  him  the  greatest 
pleasure,  and  that  on  opening  the  slips  of  paper  it  was 
found  that  seven  bore  the  name  of  "Mansfield  Park." 
Of  all  Jane  Austen's  works  this  perhaps  is  the  one  which 
will  best  repay  careful  perusal.  It  teems  with  delicate 
touches  of  character  and  fine  strokes  of  art. 

The  principal  figure  in  "  Mansfield  Park "  is  Fanny 
Price.  Fanny's  mother  is  the  wife  of  a  poor  lieutenant 
of  marines,  and  has  married  "  to  disoblige  her  family." 
But  she  has  a  sister  who  "  with  only  seven  thousand 
pounds  had  the  good  luck  to  captivate  Sir  Thomas 
Bertram  of  Mansfield  Park,  in  the  county  of  North- 
ampton, and  to  be  thereby  raised  to  the  rank  of  a 
baronet's  lady,  with  all  the  comforts  and  consequence 
of  a  handsome  house  and  large  income."  She  has 
another  sister  married  to  Mr.  Norris,  who  holds  the 
family  living  of  Mansfield.  Mrs.  Price's  family  multi- 
plying, she  is   glad  to   make   up  the  quarrel  with  her 


LIFE  OF  J  A  NE  A  US  TEN.  141 

family,  and  it  is  proposed  to  relieve  her  of  one  of  her 
children.  The  proposal  comes  from  Mrs.  Norris,  who 
gives  herself  the  credit,  but  adroitly  throws  the  burden 
on  Sir  Thomas.  Not  to  the  Rectory,  therefore,  Fanny, 
the  selected  child,  is  brought,  but  to  Mansfield  Park. 
Mansfield  Park  is  a  mansion  worthy  of  the  baronetage, 
with  a  park  six  miles  round,  a  great  train  of  domestics,  a 
grand  butler  heading  each  evening  the  solemn  procession 
with  the  tea  urn,  a  bewigged  coachman,  and  all  the 
equipments  of  aristocratic  state  and  luxury.  The  style 
of  the  writer  seems  to  rise  a  little  with  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene,  and  there  is  an  approach  to  tragic  dignity  at 
the  close. 

To  the  inmates  of  Mansfield  Park  Fanny  Price  is 
introduced.  Sir  Thomas  is  a  most  worthy  man,  superior 
in  understanding,  and  not  only  a  baronet  but  a  gentleman. 
He  is,  however,  stiff,  stately,  and  somewhat  awful.  There 
is  no  merriment  except  in  his  absence.  He  loves  his 
children,  but  does  not  find  his  way  to  their  heart.  His 
wife  is  a  brainless  beauty,  indolent  and  apathetic,  spend- 
ing her  life  on  the  sofa  in  doing  fancy  work  or  fondling 
her  pug,  guided  in  all  great  matters  by  her  husband  and 
in  all  little  matters  by  her  sister,  the  busybody  Mrs. 
Norris,  but  perfectly  harmless  and  good-natured.  There 
are  two  boys,  Thomas  and  Edmund,  two  girls,  Maria  and 
Julia.  The  poor  little  Fanny  is  at  first  miserable  in  the 
strange  house  and  amidst  the  unwonted  grandeur.  No- 
body means  to  be  unkind  to  her,  but  nobody  is  kind. 
She  is  "  disheartened  by  Lady  Bertram's  silence,  awed 
by  Sir  Thomas's  grave  looks,  and  quite  overcome  by 
Mrs.  Norris's  admonitions.     Her  elder  cousins  mortify 


142  LIFE  OF 

her  by  reflections  on  her  size,  and  abash  her  by  noticing 
her  shyness ;  Miss  Lee  (the  governess)  wonders  at  her 
ignorance,  and  the  maidservants  sneer  at  her  clothes." 
To  complete  her  woes,  she  feels  that  it  is  naughty  in  her 
not  to  be  happy.  At  last  she  finds  a  friend  and  champion 
in  the  younger  boy  Edmund,  with  whose  destiny  we  see 
at  once  her  destiny  is  linked.  He  begins  by  helping  her 
to  write  to  her  dear  sailor  brother  William,  and  soon  he 
becomes  entire  master  of  her  affections. 

Time  goes  on.  Tom  Bertram  grows  up  "  with  all  the 
liberal  dispositions  of  an  eldest  son  who  feels  born  only 
for  expense  and  enjoyment."  Maria  and  Julia  grow  up 
handsome,  accomplished,  well-bred,  but  without  sterling 
qualities,  showing  in  their  characters  the  bad  effects  at 
once  of  their  father's  reserve  and  of  their  Aunt  Norris's 
fondness  and  flattery.  Edmund  is  the  flower  of  the 
family.  He  is  destined  for  orders,  and  in  time  for  the 
family  living,  though  the  debts  of  his  elder  brother  have 
somewhat  compromised  his  prospects  of  preferment  and 
compelled  Sir  Thomas  to  sell  the  next  presentation  to 
the  epicurean  Dr.  Grant,  doing  thereby,  as  he  feels,  an 
injustice  to  his  younger  son,  though  it  does  not  seem  to 
enter  his  head  that  he  is  doing  an  injustice  to  the  souls 
of  the  parishioners.  Mr.  Norris  being  defunct,  Mrs. 
Norris  has  moved  from  the  Rectory  to  the  White  House; 
but  she  is  perpetually  at  the  Park,  to  the  misfortune  of 
Fanny  Price,  towards  whom  she  is  always  harsh  and 
censorious,  constantly  reminding  her  of  her  situation  and 
making  a  slave  of  her,  while  she  idolizes  and  spoils  the 
Misses  Bertram.  Edmund  still  treats  Fanny  with  the 
same  kindness ;  he  directs  her  reading,  trains  her  mind, 


JANE  A  USTEN.  143 

provides  a  horse  for  her,  and  teaches  her  to  ride,  and  is 
in  all  things  an  affectionate  brother  to  her,  while  his  own 
excellence  unfolds  into  manhood.  On  her  part  gratitude, 
admiration,  and  friendship  are  fast  ripening  into  love. 

The  season  of  love  and  love-adventures  arrives.  That 
the  mice  may  play  for  our  amusement,  the  cat  is  sent 
away.  Sir  Thomas  finds  it  necessary  to  go  and  look 
after  his  estate  in  Antigua.  Even  the  good  Fanny 
cannot  help  sinfully  feeling  that  his  absence  .is  a  relief 

There  come  to  Mansfield  Henry  and  Mary  Crawford, 
the  brother  and  sister  of  Mrs.  Grant,  whose  guests  at  the 
Rectory  they  are.  Henry  Crawford  is  a  brilliant  man 
of  the  world  with  a  good  property,  and  so  fascinating 
that  though  not  handsome  he  is  thought  so.  Mary 
Crawford  is  a  siren  full  of  grace  and  wit,  besides  playing 
enchantingly  on  the  harp.  But  they  have  been  brought 
up  under  the  influence  of  their  uncle.  Admiral  Crawford, 
an  immoral  old  gentleman,  and  they  are  both  of  them 
light  and  unprincipled,  though  their  superiority  of 
intellect  has  preserved  their  moral  taste. 

Edmund  Bertram,  country-bred  though  his  under- 
standing is  excellent,  falls  desperately  in  love  with  the 
London  liveliness  and  glitter  of  Mary  Crawford.  He 
cannot  help  seeing  her  want  of  principle  and  being 
shocked  by  the  levity  with  which  she  talks  of  serious 
subjects,  and  which  is  especially  uncongenial  to  him  as  he 
is  going  to  be  a  clergyman  and  thinks  worthily  of  his 
caUing.  But  he  blinds  himself  to  facts,  dwells  on  Mary's 
amiability  and  good-nature,  which  are  real,  and  sets 
down  her  faults  to  the  account  of  a  bad  education. 

Fanny  Price  undergoes  the  pain  not  only  of  watching 


144  LIFE  OF 

the  growth  of  this  rising  passion  which  is  going  to  rob 
her  of  the  idol  of  her  own  heart,  and  the  object  of 
which,  to  enhance  her  anguish,  she  sees  to  be  unworthy, 
but  of  being  taken  into  Edmund's  confidence  and  having 
her  judgment,  which  steadily  rebels,  pressed  into  the 
service  of  his  fond  delusion.  For  Edmund,  while  he 
regards  Fanny  with  the  utmost  affection  as  a  sister,  has 
no  suspicion  that  she  regards  him  otherwise  than  as  a 
brother.  The  pages  in  which  the  martyrdom  of  Fanny 
Price's  love  is  told  are  among  the  highest  effort  of  the 
writer's  art. 

'"I  think  the  man  who  could  often  quarrel  with  Fanny,'  said 
Edmund,  affectionately,  '  must  be  beyond  the  reach  of  any 
sermons. ' 

"  Fanny  turned  farther  into  the  window  ;  and  Miss  Crawford  had 
only  time  to  say,  in  a  pleasant  manner,  '  I  fancy  Miss  Price  has 
been  more  used  to  deserve  praise  than  to  hear  it  ;  '  when  being 
earnestly  invited  by  the  Miss  Bertrams  to  join  in  a  glee,  she  tripped 
oft"  to  the  instrument,  leaving  Edmund  looking  after  her  in  an 
ecstasy  of  admiration  of  all  her  many  virtues,  from  her  obliging 
manners  down  to  her  light  and  graceful  tread. 

" '  There  goes  good  humour,  I  am  sure,'  said  he  presently. 
'  There  goes  a  temper  which  would  never  give  pain  !  How  well  she 
walks  !  and  how  readily  she  falls  in  with  the  inclination  of  others  ! 
joining  them  the  moment  she  is  asked.  What  a  pity,' he  added, 
after  an  instant's  reflection,  '  that  she  should  have  been  in  such 
hands  1 ' 

"Fanny  agreed  to  it,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  contiiuie 
at  the  window  with  her,  in  spite  of  the  expected  glee  ;  and  of 
having  his  eyes  soon  turned,  like  hers,  towards  the  scene  without, 
where  all  that  was  solemn,  and  soothing,  and  lovely,  appeared  in 
the  brilliancy  of  an  unclouded  night,  and  the  contrast  of  the  deep 
shade  of  the  woods.  Fanny  spoke  her  feelings.  '  Here's  harmony  ! ' 
said  she ;  '  here's  repose  !  Flere's  what  may  leave  all  painting  and 
all  music  behind,  and  what  poetry  only  can  attempt  to  describe  1 


JANE  AUSTEN.  145 

Here's  what  may  tranquillize  every  care,  and  lift  the  heart  to 
rapture  !  When  I  look  out  on  such  a  night  as  this,  I  feel  as  if  there 
could  be  neither  wickedness  nor  sorrow  in  the  world ;  and  there 
certainly  would  be  less  of  both  if  the  sublimity  of  nature  were  more 
attended  to,  and  people  were  carried  more  out  of  themselves  by 
contemplating  such  a  scene.' 

"  'I  like  to  hear  your  enthusiasm,  Fanny.  It  is  a  lovely  night, 
and  they  are  much  to  be  pitied  who  have  not  been  taught  to  feel,  in 
some  degree,  as  you  do ;  who  have  not,  at  least,  been  given  a  taste 
for  nature  in  early  life.     They  lose  a  great  deal.' 

"  '  Yoii  taught  me  to  think  and  feel  on  the  subject,  cousin.' 
"  '  I  had  a  very  apt   scholar.      There's  Arcturus  looking  very 
bright.' 

"  '  Yes,  and  the  Bear.     I  wish  I  could  see  Cassiopeia.' 
"  *  We  must  go  out  on  the  lawn  for  that.     Should  you  be  afraid  ?' 
"  '  Not  in  the  least.     It  is  a  great  while  since  we  have  had  any 
star-gazing.' 

"  '  Yes ;  I  do  not  know  how  it  has  happened.'  Tlie  glee  began. 
'  We  will  stay  till  this  is  finished,  Fanny,'  said  he,  turning  his  back 
on  the  window ;  and  as  it  advanced,  she  had  the  mortification  of 
seeing  him  advance  too,  moving  forward  by  gentle  degrees  towards 
the  instrument,  and  when  it  ceased,  he  was  close  by  the  singers, 
among  the  most  urgent  in  requesting  to  hear  the  glee  again.' 

"Fanny  sighed  alone  at  the  window  till  scolded  away  by  Mrs, 
Norris's  threats  of  catching  cold." 

Meantime  Henry  Crawford,  in  his  profligate  way,  is 
making  love  to  Maria  and  Julia  Bertram  at  the  same 
time,  while  the  sisters,  both  in  love  with  him,  are 
rivals  for  his  regard.  But  Maria  is  already  engaged, 
through  the  manoeuvring  of  Mrs.  Norris,  whose  darling 
she  is,  to  Mr.  Rushworth,  a  neighbouring  squire  with 
twelve  thousand  a  year  but  no  brains.  Nevertheless 
Henry  Crawford  finally  gives  the  preference  to  Maria^ 
who  is  the  greater  beauty  of  the  two,  and  with  her  carries 
on  a  scandalous  flirtation,  while  her  betrothed  "  stands 

lO 


146  LIFE  OF 

dangling  his  bonnet  and  plume,"  and  can  only  relieve 
himself  by  disparaging  Mr,  Crawford's  stature. 

Mary  Crawford  has  moral  and  intellectual  taste  enough 
to  appreciate  Edmund  Bertram  ;  she  is  as  much  in  love 
with  him  as  her  shallow  heart  can  be,  and  is  apparently 
ready  to  accept  him ;  but  her  worldly  ambition  receives 
a  shock  when  she  finds  that  he  is  going  to  be  a  clergy- 
man. Before  the  discovery,  she  had  spoken  to  him  in 
very  disparaging  terms  of  the  profession  as  one  which 
no  man  of  spirit  would  enter,  and  when  the  discovery 
is  made  she  cannot  get  over  it,  and  labours  with  her 
siren  art  to  dissuade  her  lover  from  a  step  which  would 
close  the  door  against  all  hope  of  public  life  and  worldly 
distinction.  Her  prejudice  is  perhaps  increased  by  the 
daily  sight  of  Dr,  Grant,  a  respectable  clergyman  in  his 
way  and  a  good  preacher,  but  an  indolent  and  selfish 
hon  vivant,  who,  if  he  is  disappointed  about  a  green  goose, 
quarrels  with  his  excellent  wife  and  sulks  for  a  whole 
evening.  About  the  small  income,  to  do  her  justice, 
she  does  not  seem  to  think  so  much.  Edmund,  however, 
cannot  consent  to  change  his  profession,  and  he  vainly 
struggles  to  remove  her  prejudice,  for  he  is  desperately 
in  love. 

The  love  affairs,  that  between  Edmund  Bertram  and 
Mary  Crawford  and  that  between  Henry  Crawford  and 
Maria  Bertram,  with  the  rivalry  of  Julia,  the  jealousy  of 
Mr,  Rushworth,  and  the  martyrdom  of  Fanny,  are 
carried  on  through  a  succession  of  scenes,  Sir  Thomas 
being  still  absent  in  Antigua,  where  the  wishes  of  all  the 
party  except  his  wife  would  long  detain  him. 

The    party  go    to   spend    a    day   at    Sotherton,   Mr. 


JANE  AUSTEN.  147 

Rushworth's  place,  and  both  on  the  road  and  in  the 
wanderings  about  the  house,  the  grounds,  and  the  "wil- 
derness," moving  incidents  occur,  the  flirtation  of  Mr. 
Crawford  with  Miss  Bertram  especially  reaching  a  great 
height.  This  picture  of  passion  and  jealousy  is  finely 
set  off  by  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Norris  bandying  formal 
compliments  with  the  dull  Mrs.  Rushworth,  snapping  at 
Fanny,  and  spunging  on  the  housekeeper  for  cream 
cheeses  and  pheasants'  eggs.  The  party  at  length  sets 
out  for  home. 

'"Well,  Fanny,  this  has  been  a  fine  day  for  you,  upon  my 
word  ! '  said  Mrs.  Norris,  as  they  drove  through  the  park.  '  No- 
thing but  pleasure  from  beginning  to  end  1  I  am  sure  you  ought  to 
be  veiy  much  obliged  to  your  Aunt  Bertram  and  me,  for  contriving 
to  let  you  go.     A  pretty  good  day's  amusement  you  have  had  ! ' 

"Maria  was  just  discontented  enough  to  say  directly,  '  I  think 
you  have  done  pretty  well  yourself,  ma'am.  Your  lap  seems  full  of 
good  things,  and  here  is  a  basket  of  something  between  us,  which 
has  been  knocking  my  elbow  unmercifully.' 

"  '  My  dear,  it  is  only  a  beautiful  little  heath,  which  that  nice  old 
gardener  would  make  me  take  ;  but  if  it  is  in  your  way,  I  will  have 
it  in  my  lap  directly.  There,  Fanny,  you  shall  carry  that  parcel  for 
me  ;  take  great  care  of  it ;  do  not  let  it  fall ;  it  is  a  cream  cheese, 
just  like  the  excellent  one  we  had  at  dinner.  Nothing  would  satisfy 
that  good  old  Mrs.  Whitaker,  but  my  taking  one  of  the  cheeses.  I 
stood  out  as  long  as  I  could,  till  the  tears  almost  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  I  knew  it  was  just  the  sort  that  my  sister  would  be  delighted 
with.  That  Mrs.  Whitaker  is  a.treasure  !  She  was  quite  shocked 
when  I  asked  her  whether  wine  was  allowed  at  the  second  table, 
and  she  has  turned  away  two  housemaids  for  wearing  white  gowns. 
Take  care  of  the  cheese,  Fanny.  Now  I  can  manage  the  other 
parcel  and  the  basket  very  well.' 

"  '  What  else  have  you  been  spunging?'  said  Maria,  half  pleased 
that  Sotherton  should  be  so  complimented. 

"  '  Spunging,  my  dear  1     It  is  nothing  but  four  of  those  beautiful 


148  LIFE  OF 

pheasants'  eggs,  which  Mrs.  Whitaker  would  quite  force  upon  me ; 
she  would  not  take  a  denial.  She  said  it  must  be  such  an  amuse- 
ment to  me,  as  she  understood  I  lived  quite  alone,  to  have  a  few 
living  creatures  of  that  sort ;  and  so  to  be  sure  it  will.  I  shall  get 
the  dairymaid  to  set  them  under  the  first  spare  hen,  and  if  they 
come  to  good  I  can  have  them  moved  to  my  own  house  and  borrow 
a  coop  ;  and  it  will  be  a  great  delight  to  me  in  my  lonely  hours  to 
attend  to  them.  And  if  I  have  good  luck,  your  mother  shall  have 
some.' 

"  It  was  a  beautiful  evening,  mild  and  still,  and  the  drive  was  as 
pleasant  as  the  serenity  of  nature  could  make  it ;  but  when  Mrs. 
Norris  ceased  speaking,  it  was  altogether  a  silent  drive  to  those 
within.  Their  spirits  were  in  general  exhausted ;  and  to  determine 
whether  the  day  had  afforded  most  pleasure  or  pain,  might  occupy 
the  meditations  of  almost  all." 

Can  anything  be  more  vivid  than  this  picture  of  the 
sinking  of  Mrs.  Norris's  chatter  into  the  general  silence, 
while  they  all  roll  on  through  the  still  evening,  the  heart 
of  each  exhausted  with  the  joy  or  sorrow  of  the  day? 

The  next  thing  is  that  the  party  at  Mansfield  Park  get 
up  private  theatricals.  The  idea  is  put  into  their  heads 
by  the  objectionable  Mr.  Yates,  a  nobleman's  younger 
son  who  has  joined  the  party,  having  come  from  a  great 
house  where  they  had  been  getting  up  a  play  but  had 
been  prevented  from  performing  it  by  the  untoward 
death  of  a  grandmother.  Edmund,  the  conscience  of 
the  party,  protests  against  a  scheme  which  he  knows  and 
which  they  all  more  or  less  know  that  his  father  would 
disapprove,  and  which  in  the  absence  of  the  head  of  the 
house  is  unseemly.  But  his  protest  is  unavailing.  To 
complete  his  dismay  the  play  chosen,  after  the  usual 
conflict  of  tastes  and  vanities,  is  Lovers'  Vows,  and  parts 
are   cast    for    Henry  Crawford    and   Maria    Bertram  so 


J  A  NE  A  USTEN.  149 

that  Crawford  will  have  to  play  Miss  Bertram's  lover. 
Edmund  protests  with  increased  vehemence.  But  his 
virtue  is  doomed  to  a  fall.  Miss  Crawford  takes  the 
part  of  Amelia,  and  Anhalt  is  to  make  love  to  her.  But 
there  is  no  one  in  the  family  party  to  take  the  part  of 
Anhalt.  She  is  distressed  at  the  thought  of  its  being 
taken  by  a  stranger ;  her  lover  shares  her  embarrassment, 
the  siren  uses  her  allurements,  and  to  prevent  worse 
mischief  Edmund  persuades  himself  that  there  is  nothing 
for  it  but  that  he  should  take  the  part  of  Anhalt  himself. 
He  labours  hard  to  sophisticate  his  own  judgment  and 
tries  to  make  Fanny,  for  whose  moral  instincts  he  has  a 
deep  respect,  his  accomplice  in  the  attempt.  All  the 
spirits  of  evil  triumph  in  the  victory  over  Edmund's 
virtue.  Fanny  is  horrified  at  this  self-abasement  of  her 
idol.  For  herself,  morally  firm  and  steadfast,  though 
sensitive,  timorous,  and  lowly  in  her  own  eyes,  she  with 
gentle  resolution  refuses  to  take  a  part,  and  only  with 
much  misgiving  consents  to  fill  a  vacant  place  by  reading 
in  the  rehearsal.  Henry  Crawford  having  distinctly 
thrown  the  handkerchief  to  Maria  by  giving  her  the 
first  female  part  and  the  one  in  which  she  would  have 
him  to  play  her  lover,  Julia  is  in  dudgeon.  Otherwise 
all  goes  on  swimmingly.  Mrs.  Norris  and  the  maids  are 
at  work  on  the  green  baize  curtain,  in  the  making  of 
which,  by  her  skilful  management,  half  a  crown's  worth  of 
rings  are  saved ;  and  Mr.  Rushworth,  to  whom  the  part 
suitable  to  his  intellect  is  assigned,  is  desperately  trying 
to  learn  his  forty-two  speeches,  and  is  partly  consoling 
himself  under  the  pangs  of  jealousy  with  the  prospect  of 
appearing  in  a  blue  dress  and  a  pink  satin  cloak.     The 


160  LIFE  OF 

billiard-room  has  been  fitted  up  as  a  stage,  and  Sir 
Thomas's  sanctum  has  been  turned  upside  down  to 
furnish  a  green-room.  A  rehearsal  is  going  on  :  the 
hand  of  Henry  Crawford  as  Frederick  is  on  the  heart  of 
Maria  as  Agatha^  when  Julia  bursts  in  with  the  announce- 
ment that  Sir  Thomas  has  returned  and  is  in  the  hall 
at  that  moment.  The  company  disperses  in  dismay, 
Frederick,  however,  even  after  the  thunderbolt  has  fallen, 
continuing  to  press  the  hand  of  Agatha  to  his  heart.  A 
scene  of  comic  agony  ensues,  and  it  reaches  the  climax 
when  Sir  Thomas  goes  to  indulge  himself  with  a  sight  of 
his  own  dear  room. 

"  When  tea  was  soon  afterwards  brought  in,  and  Sir  Thomas, 
getting  up,  said  that  he  found  that  he  could  not  be  any  longer  in 
the  house  without  just  looking  into  his  own  dear  room,  every 
agitation  was  returning.  lie  was  gone  before  anything  had  been 
said  to  prepare  him  for  the  change  he  must  find  there  ;  and  a  pause 
of  alarm  followed  his  disappearance.  Edmund  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  '  Something  must  be  done,'  said  he. 

" '  It  is  time  to  think  of  our  visitors,'  said  Maria,  still  feeling  her 
hand  pressed  to  Henry  Crawford's  heart,  and  caring  little  for  any- 
thing else.     '  Where  did  you  leave  Miss  Crawford,  Fanny  ?  ' 

"  Fanny  told  of  their  departure,  and  delivered  their  message. 

"'Then  poor  Yates  is  all  alone,'  cried  Tom.  'I  will  go  and 
fetch  him.     lie  will  be  no  bad  assistant  when  it  all  comes  out.' 

"To  the  theatre  he  went,  and  reached  it  just  in  time  to  witness 
the  first  meeting  of  his  father  and  his  friend.  Sir  Thomas  had  been 
a  good  deal  surprised  to  find  candles  burning  ni  his  room  ;  and  on 
casting  his  eye  round  it,  to  see  other  symptoms  of  recent  habitation 
and  a  general  air  of  confusion  in  the  furniture.  The  removal  of  the 
book-case  from  the  billiard-room  door  struck  him  especially,  but  he 
had  scarcely  more  than  time  to  feel  astonished  at  all  this,  before 
there  were  sounds  from  the  billiard-room  to  astonish  them  still 
further.     Some  one  was  talking  there  in  a  \ery  loud  accent ;  he  did 


JANE  A  USTEN.  151 

not  know  the  voice — more  than  talking — almost  hallooing.  He 
stepped  to  the  door,  rejoicing  at  that  moment  in  having  the  means 
of  immediate  communication,  and,  opening  it,  found  himself  on  the 
stage  of  a  theatre,  and  opposed  to  a  ranting  young  man,  who 
appeared  likely  to  knock  him  down  backwards.  At  the  very 
moment  of  Yates  perceiving  Sir  Thomas,  and  giving  perhaps  the 
very  best  start  he  had  eyer  given  in  -the  whole  course  of  his 
rehearsals,  Tom  Bertram  entered  at  the  other  end  of  the  room ;  and 
never  had  he  found  greater  difficulty  in  keeping  his  countenance. 
His  father's  looks  of  solemnity  and  amazement  on  this,  his  first 
appearance  on  any  stage,  and  the  gradual  metamorphosis  of  the 
impassioned  Baron  Wildenheim  into  the  well-bred  and  easy  Mr. 
Yates,  making  his  bow  and  apology  to  Sir  Thomas  Bertram,  was 
such  an  exhibition,  such  a  piece  of  true  acting,  as  he  would  not  have 
lost  upon  any  account.  It  would  be  the  last — in  all  probability — 
the  last  scene  on  that  stage  ;  but  he  was  sure  there  could  not  be  a 
finer.     The  house  would  close  with  the  greatest  eclat." 


After  this  Henry  Crawford  takes  flight,  leaving  Maria 
Bertram  in  the  lurch.  Her  father,  who  sees  that  Mr. 
Rushworth  is  a  man  whom  she  cannot  and  does  not 
love,  offers  to  get  her  released  from  the  engagement. 
But  pride  and  resentment  forbid  her  to  let  Henry 
Crawford  think  that  she  renounces  a  grand  establishment 
for  the  sake  of  one  who  has  played  with  her  and 
deserted  her.  Nor  can  she  endure  the  renewed  restraint 
of  her  father's  presence.  She  assures  Sir  Thomas  that 
she  does  not  wish  to  break  off  her  engagement,  and  she 
is  married  with  due  pomp  and  elegance  to  Mr.  Rush- 
worth,  the  service  being  impressively  read  by  Dr.  Grant. 
"  In  all  the  important  preparations  of  the  mind  she  was 
complete ;  being  prepared  for  matrimony  by  a  hatred  of 
home,  restraint,  and  tranquillity  ;  by  the  misery  of  dis- 
appointed affection,  and  contempt  of  the  man  she  was  to 


152  LIFE  OF 

marry.  The  rest  might  wait.  The  preparations  of  new 
carriages  and  furniture  might  wait  for  London  and 
spring,  when  her  own  taste  could  have  fairer  play." 
There  is  not  a  severer  touch  in  Jane  Austen's  works. 
After  the  wedding  the  pair  go  to  Brighton,  taking  Julia 
with  them. 

Fanny  Price  is  now  the  only  young  lady  at  Mansfield 
Park,  and  is  brought  from  the  background  into  the  fore- 
ground. Sir  Thomas  is  struck  with  the  improvement  in 
her  appearance.  She  has  been  prettily  called  by  Miss 
Sarah  Tytler  a  white  violet,  and  the  white  violet  has  now 
attained  the  fulness  of  its  beauty  and  fragrance.  Her 
dear  sailor  brother  having  come  to  visit  her,  a  ball  is 
given  for  her  and  him  at  Mansfield,  to  the  surprise  and 
disgust  of  Mrs.  Norris,  whose  malice  grudges  her  any 
pleasure  or  promotion. 

Miss  Crawford  has  remained  at  Mansfield,  and  Henry 
Crawford  has  unexpectedly  joined  her.  He  is  assiduous 
in  cultivating  his  intimacy  with  the  family  at  the  Park. 
At  last  Sir  Thomas  cannot  avoid  perceiving  "  in  a  grand 
and  careless  way,"  that  Mn  Crawford  is  somewhat  dis- 
tinguishing his  niece.  After  a  dinner-party  at  the 
parsonage  he  "  begins  to  think  that  any  one  in  the  habit 
of  such  idle  observations  would  have  thought  that  Mr. 
Crawford  was  the  admirer  of  Fanny  Price."  He  divines 
rightly.  Plenry  Crawford,  who  set  out,  as  he  averred  to 
his  light-minded  sister,  with  the  intention  only  of 
breaking  a  heart  for  his  amusement,  has  fallen  seriously 
and  deeply  in  love  with  Fanny  Price.  Not  only  do  the 
beauty,  the  freshness  and  tenderness  of  the  white  violet 
attract  him,  but  loose  as  was  his  own  character,  he  has 


JANE  A  USTEN.  153 

the  sense,  and  not  only  the  sense,  but  a  sufficient 
remnant  of  moral  salt  in  his  nature  to  value  character  in 
a  wife.  His  sister,  in  whom  there  is  the  same  mixture 
of  good  with  bad  qualities  which  there  is  in  him,  not- 
withstanding Fanny's  want  of  fortune  and  position, 
heartily  approves  and  backs  his  suit.  She  conjures  into 
the  hands  of  Fanny  before  the  ball  a  necklace  which  is 
really  her  brother's  gift.  The  necklace  is  intended  to 
support  a  cross  brought  as  a  present  to  Fanny  by  her 
brother  William  :  but  it  does  not  fit  the  cross ;  a  plain 
gold  chain  given  by  Edmund  does.  By  way  of  opening 
a  sure  road  to  Fanny's  heart,  Henry  Crawford  obtains 
through  his  uncle,  the  immoral  old  admiral,  her  brother 
William's  promotion  in  the  navy,  and  himself  brings  her 
the  joyful  news.  He  declares  his  love  to  Fanny,  who  is 
all  astonishment  and  confusion.  She  refuses  him  on  the 
spot.  Still  he  perseveres,  and  ardently  presses  his  suit, 
pride  conspiring  with  love  to  make  him  impatient  of 
rejection.  His  suit  is  backed  by  Sir  Thomas,  who  has  a 
solemn  interview  with  Fanny,  in  which  he  makes  her 
wretched  by  intimating  that  to  refuse  so  perfect  a  gentle- 
man, who  is  also  master  of  Everingham  and  four  thou- 
sand a  year,  would  be  an  act  on  her  part  not  only  of 
extreme  folly  but  of  undutifulness.  Little  knowing  what 
has  happened,  or  what  is  to  come,  he  says  that  he  would 
gladly  have  given  Crawford  either  of  his  own  daughters. 
To  complete  Fanny's  misery,  Edmund  also  urges  her  to 
look  favourably  on  the  offer  of  the  man  whose  sister  he 
still  hopes  to  make  his  wife,  showing  thereby  more 
plainly  than  ever  that  her  own  love  of  himself  is  hope- 
less.    Crawford  puts  forth  all  his  powers  of  charming, 


154  LIFE  OF 

and  he  has  made  himself  so  agreeable,  and  his  real 
merits  are  such  that,  convinced  as  Fanny  has  been  by 
many  indications  that  his  character  is  corrupt,  we  are  led 
to  surmise  that  he  might  have  prevailed  in  the  end  had 
not  Fanny's  heart  been  guarded  by  the  other  attachnrent, 
which,  though  hopeless,  is  still  strong.  As  it  is  she 
steadily  rejects  him,  and  he  at  last  takes  his  departure, 
still,  however,  refusing  to  despair,  and  encouraged  by 
Sir  Thomas  in  the  belief  that  Fanny  will  presently 
change  her  mind.  He  is  evidently  intended  to  be 
represented  as  having  depth  of  character  of  a  certain 
kind,  and  power  of  appreciating  moral  as  well  as  physical 
beauty. 

Edmund  Bertram  has  taken  the  step  on  the  conse- 
quences of  which  depends,  as  he  thinks,  the  happiness 
of  his  life.  He  has  been  ordained,  a  ceremony  which 
appears  to  have  been  regarded  in  those  days  with  much 
less  awe  than  it  is  now,  inasmuch  as  he,  who  would  have 
been  scrupulous,  if  any  one  would,  had  danced  at  a  ball 
a  few  days  before.  Will  Mary  Crawford  now  discard 
liim,  or  will  she  quell  her  ambition,  overcome  her 
prejudices,  and  remain  true  to  the  man  whom  it  is 
evident  that,  woman  of  the  world  and  wanting  in 
principle  as  she  is,  she  has  the  grace  sincerely  to  love  ? 
She  has  not  made  up  her  mind.  Every  day  Fanny  is 
expecting  to  hear  that  Edmund  has  been  accepted  by 
Mary,  and  that  the  doom  of  her  own  heart  is  sealed. 
But  still  she  does  not  hear  it.  Edmund's  enthralment, 
however,  is  still  complete.  Mary  Crawford  cannot  help 
showing,  and  he  cannot  help  seeing,  what  is  bad  in  her  ; 
but  he  sets  it  all  down  to  education  and  circumstance. 


JANE  AUSTEN.  165 

Her  enchantments  prevail :  he  makes  up  his  mind  that 
lie  will  be  miserable  without  her,  and  fervently  presses 
his  suit,  still  pouring  his  confidences  into  the  sisterly 
bosom,  as  he  takes  it  to  be,  of  Fanny,  and  filling  that 
bosom  with  agony  thereby. 

Sir  Thomas  Bertram  condescends  to  a  stratagem. 
He  ordains  that  Fanny  shall  pay  a  visit  to  her  family, 
whom  she  has  not  seen  all  these  years,  and  who  are 
living  at  Portsmouth.  His  ostensible  reason  is  that  she 
owes  this  duty  to  affection.  His  real  reason  is  that 
after  spending  a  few  weeks  in  the  house  of  a  poor 
Lieutenant  of  Marines  and  his  wife,  she  will  know  what 
poverty  is,  and  see  how  great  a  mistake  she  would  be 
making  if  she  refused  the  owner  of  Everingham.  She 
accordingly  goes  down  to  Portsmouth  with  her  sailor 
brother  William,  who  was  staying  at  Mansfield.  In  one 
respect  Sir  Thomas's  anticipations  are  thoroughly  ful- 
filled. Fanny  does  see  what  poverty  is.  The  "  trollopy  " 
servant-girl  by  whom  she  is  received  at  the  door  is  an 
in  lex  to  the  character  of  the  establishment.  The  home 
which  she  has  been  longing  to  see  again  is  the  abode  of 
noise,  dirt,  disorder,  and  impropriety.  The  father  for 
whose  embrace  she  yearned  is  coarse,  vulgar,  given  to 
drinking  spirits  and  to  swearing.  He  receives  his 
daughter  almost  with  indifference.  Her  mother  is 
slatternly,  a  bad  manager,  and  ahvays  struggling  with 
the  sordid  cares  and  difficulties  which  her  want  of 
control  over  her  household  and  household  affairs 
creates.  Fanny's  brothers  and  sisters  are  an  ill-bred, 
untrained,  quarrelsome  crew,  and  their  din  which 
resounds  through   the  httle  house  is  insufferable.     The 


156  LIFE  OF 

house  is  comfortless  as  well  as  small,  and  the  cookery 
of  Rebecca  is  such  that  Sir  Thomas's  cure  is  in  some 
danger  of  killing  the  patient.  The  only  redeeming  part 
of  the  picture  is  the  character  of  Susan  Price,  in  whom 
a  better  nature  than  that  of  her  brothers  and  sisters 
shows  itself,  and  who  is  reclaimed  and  civilized  by 
Fanny.  The  heart  of  Fanny  does  indeed  turn  away 
from  a  home  of  poverty  to  one  of  wealth,  order,  elegance 
and  luxury.  But  it  yearns  for  Mansfield  Park  and  not 
for  Everingham. 

At  Portsmouth  she  receives  a  visit  from  Henry 
Crawford,  whose  perseverance,  considering  that  Fanny's 
attractions  are  largely  moral,  we  cannot  but  admire. 
He  once  more  exerts  his  powers  of  fascination,  and  he 
has  a  special  opportunity  of  showing  his  good  breeding 
and  gentlemanly  tact  by  a  behaviour  to  the  Price 
family  which  relieves  Fanny  from  her  natural  fears  of 
disgrace  and  shame  :  for,  though  she  wishes  an  end  to 
be  put  to  Crawford's  unwelcome  suit,  she  does  not  wish 
an  end  to  be  put  to  it  by  the  vulgarity  of  her  relations. 
The  visit  is  without  result.  While  Henry  Crawford  is 
talking  of  Everingham,  Fanny  listens  with  indifference  : 
she  is  all  attention  when  he  talks  of  Mansfield.  Still  it 
seems  that  he  would  have  a  chance  if  Edmund  married 
Mary  Crawford. 

But  Edmund  does  not  marry  Mary  Crawford.  She 
has  now  got  back  to  London,  and  is  again  under  the 
influence  of  her  fashionable  and  aristocratic  set.  In 
the  vortex  of  fast  society  her  worldly  ambition  gets  the 
upper  hand  of  the  love  which  had  been  bred  in 
Mansfield   Parsonage.     In  a  letter  to  Fanny,  Edmund 


JANE  AUSTEN.  157 

saj's  that  after  seeing  Mary  in  London  he  has  returned 
to  Mansfield  in  a  less  assured  state  than  when  he  left  it. 
Still,  he  has  not  received  a  final  answer,  and  if  Mary 
could  only  be  detached  from  Lady  Stornoway,  Mrs. 
Fraser,  and  the  rest  of  the  fast  set,  there  would  be  hope. 
Edmund  cannot  give  Mary  up  :  "  she  is  the  only  woman 
in  the  world  of  whom  he  would  ever  think  as  a  wife." 
He  can  the  less  bear  the  thought  of  renouncing  her 
because  he  would  at  the  same  time  be  renouncing  the 
society  of  the  others  who  were  the  most  dear  to  him, 
since  the  loss  of  Mary  would,  as  he  fancies,  be  the  loss 
of  Henry  Crawford  and  of  Fanny. 

Edmund's  elder  brother,  the  sporting  and  dissipated 
Tom,  falls  dangerously  ill.  Mary  Crawford  writes  to 
Fanny  to  inquire  whether  he  is  likely  to  die,  showing 
plainly  that  if  he  does,  and  if  Edmund  comes  in  for 
the  title  and  the  estate,  this  will  make  all  the  difference 
in  the  state  of  her  affections.  After  this  we  give  up 
Mary  for  ever. 

Now  comes  a  crash  which  brings  with  it  the  catas- 
trophe. In  London  Henry  Crawford  again  meets  Maria 
Bertram,  now  Mrs.  Rushworth,  who,  with  a  husband  she 
cannot  love  and  of  whom  she  cannot  help  being 
ashamed,  is  unhappy  amidst  her  grandeur.  She  falls 
into  the  arms  of  her  old  lover,  who  has  not  principle 
enough  to  resist  the  temptation.  They  run  away 
together.  At  the  same  time  Julia  sympathetically 
elopes  with  the  objectionable  Mr.  Yates.  Fanny  is 
recalled  to  Mansfield  as  the  only  angel  of  comfort  in 
a  house  overwhelmed  with  misery  and  shame.  The 
Rushworths  are  divorced,  and   as   Sir  Thomas   refuses 


158  LIFE  OF 

to  receive  Maria  at  Mansfield,  Mrs.  Norris,  whose 
handiwork  as  a  matchmaker  has  thus  come  to  hideous 
ruin,  leaves  Mansfield  and  goes  to  spend  in  retirement 
with  her  Maria  the  rest  of  their  clouded  lives. 

Since  the  affair  of  Crawford  and  Mrs.  Rushworth, 
Edmund  has  seen  Mary  Crawford,  and  she  has  spoken 
of  the  matter  in  a  tone  of  such  revolting  levity  and 
immorality,  thinking  only  of  the  folly,  not  of  the  guilt, 
and  proposing  a  solution  almost  as  bad  as  the  crime 
itself,  that  he  has  not  been  able  any  longer  to  blind 
himself  to  her  real  character,  and  has  at  once  cast  her 
off  for  ever.  There  has  been  a  stormy  scene  between 
them,  in  which  not  only  the  heartlessness  but  the 
insolence  of  the  woman  of  the  world  has  shown  itself, 
though  as  Edmund  was  leaving  the  room  her  love  once 
more  struggled  for  the  mastery,  and  she  showed  an 
inclination  to  call  him  back,  to  which  he  did  not 
respond. 

Edmund  is  now  thrown  back  on  the  sisterly  affection 
of  Fanny.  As  a  wife,  he  still  thinks  that  no  other 
woman  but  Mary  Crawford  will  do  for  him.  In 
time,  and  after  much  experience  of  Fanny  as  a  com- 
forter, he  finds  that  a  woman  of  another  sort  will  do. 
They  are  married.  Dr.  Grant  is  promoted  to  a  stall 
at  Westminster,  where  he  dies  of  apoplexy  brought  on 
by  a  course  of  institutionary  dinners.  Edmund  and 
Fanny  are  installed  in  Mansfield  Parsonage.  Sir 
Thomas  is  consoled  in  his  old  age,  and  Susan 
Price  takes  Fanny's  place  with  Lady  Bertram. 

Among  the  subordinate  characters,  the  most  notable 
is   that   of  Mrs.   Norris.     Short  of  criminality,  nothing 


JANE  AUSTEN.  159 

can  be   more   odious;   nor  has   Jane    Austen    painted 
anything   which   we  should   say   was   more    worthy   of 
hatred.     Mrs.    Norris   is  harsh,    ill-natured,    mean,  and 
artful.     Her     mind     is    thoroughly    low.     She    affects 
benevolence,    but     takes    care    that     her    good   works 
shall   be  done   at   the  cost  of  others.     Her  behaviour 
to   poor  Fanny   is   execrable,    and    one    wonders    that 
Sir  Thomas  can   overlook   it,   or   fail  "  in  his   solemn 
musings "    to    see    what    she    is,    notwithstanding    all 
her    professions    of    devotion    to    his    interest.      She 
cackles   over   her   grand  triumph  in  preventing  a  poor 
boy  who  has   come  on    an    errand    from   getting    his 
dinner   in   the   servants'  hall.     She   is   thievish  withal : 
after   the   catastrophe  of  the  theatricals  she  makes   off 
with  the  green  baize   curtain,    and   after   the   wedding 
she  filches  the  supernumerary  jellies.     Feeling  that  she 
ought  to  send   a  present   to   the   nephews  and   nieces 
whom   she   has   not   seen  for  a  number   of  years,   she 
balances   between  two  old   prayer-books,    and    at  last 
cannot  make  up  her  mind  to  part  with  either.     There 
is   nothing  in   her   not   thoroughly   selfish    except    her 
doting  fondness   for  her   two  Bertram  nieces,  which  is 
itself  closely  connected  with  her  own  vanity,  and  which 
leads    them    both    to    ruin.      Yet    what    character    is 
dearer  to  us   than    Mrs.    Norris?     What    would    even 
"  Mansfield  Park  "  be   without   her?     It  is  to  the  bad 
characters   in   novels   and  plays   that  we  are  indebted 
after  all  for  the  excitement  and  the  fun. 

Between  the  character  of  Mrs.  Norris  and  that  of  her 
sister  Lady  Bertram,  there  is  peihaps  a  rather  unnatural 
gap.    Nor  are  the  indolence,  apathy,  and  mental  vacancy 


IGO  LIFE  OF 

of  Lady  Bertram  kept  quite  within  the  bounds  of 
creduHty  even  when  all  allowance  is  made  for  a  life 
spent  in  the  lap  of  ease  and  luxury.  With  regard  to 
these  comic  characters,  however,  we  must  repeat  that  the 
features  of  the  comic  mask,  to  produce  an  effect,  must 
be  exaggerated.  Lady  Bertram's  passive  faultlessness  in 
all  the  relations  of  life  is  skilfully  sustained.  It  appears 
in  her  reception  of  her  husband  after  his  return  from  the 
West  Indies. 

"By  not  one  of  the  circle  was  he  listened  to  with  such  unbroken, 
unalloyed  enjoyment  as  by  his  wife,  who  was  really  extremely  happy 
to  see  him,  and  whose  feelings  were  so  warmed  by  his  sudden 
arrival,  as  to  place  her  nearer  agitation  than  she  had  been  for  the 
last  twenty  years.  She  had  been  almost  fluttered  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  still  remained  so  sensibly  animated  as  to  put  away  her  work, 
move  pug  from  her  side,  and  give  all  her  attention  and  all  the  rest 
of  her  sofa  to  her  husband.  She  had  no  anxieties  for  anybody  to 
cloud  her  pleasure  :  her  own  time  had  been  irreproachably  spent 
during  his  absence  :  she  had  done  a  great  deal  of  carpet  work,  and 
made  many  yards  of  fringe  ;  and  she  would  have  answered  as  freely 
for  the  good  conduct  and  useful  pursuits  of  all  the  young  people  as 
for  her  own.  It  was  so  agreeable  to  her  to  see  him  again,  and  hear 
him  talk,  to  have  her  ear  amused  and  her  whole  comprehension 
filled  by  his  narratives,  that  she  began  particularly  to  feel  how 
dreadfully  she  must  have  missed  him,  and  how  impossible  it  would 
have  been  for  her  to  bear  a  lengthened  absence." 

Lady  Bertram's  letter  to  Fanny  upon  the  dangerous 
illness  of  Tom  Bertram  is  a  counterpart  as  a  self  revela- 
tion to  the  letters  of  Mr,  Collins  in  "  Pride  and  Pre- 
judice." 

"  '  This  distressing  intelligence,  as  you  may  suppose,'  observed 
her  ladyship,  after  giving  the  substance  of  it,  '  has  agitated  us 
exceedingly,  and  we  cannot  prevent  ourselves  from  beii  g  greatly 


JANE  AUSTEN.  161 

alarmed  and  apprehensive  for  the  poor  invalid,  whose  state  Sir 
Thomas  fears  may  be  very  critical ;  and  Edmund  kindly  proposes 
attending  his  brother  immediately,  but  I  am  happy  to  add  that  Sir 
Thomas  will  not  leave  me  on  this  distressing  occasion,  as  it  would 
be  too  trying  for  me.  We  shall  greatly  miss  Edmund  in  our  small 
circle,  but  I  trust  and  hope  he  will  find  the  poor  invalid  in  a  less 
alarming  state  than  might  be  apprehended,  and  that  he  will  be  able 
to  bring  him  to  Mansfield  shortly,  which  Sir  Thomas  proposes 
should  be  done,  and  thinks  best  on  every  account,  and  I  flatter 
myself  the  poor  sufferer  will  soon  be  able  to  bear  the  removal  with- 
out material  inconvenience  or  injury.  As  I  have  little  doubt  of  your 
feeling  for  us,  my  dear  Fanny,  under  these  distressing  circumstances, 
I  will  write  again  very  soon.'" 

We  measure  the  extent  of  the  disasters  which  have 
fallen  upon  the  family  by  their  effect  in  overcoming  the 
apathy  of  Lady  Bertram.  Fanny  {on  her  return  from 
Portsmouth  to  Mansfield)  had  scarcely  passed  the  solemn- 
looking  servants  when  Lady  Bertram  came  from  the 
drawing-room  to  meet  her  :  came  with  no  indolent  step, 
and  falling  on  her  neck,  said,  "  Dear  Fanny,  now  I  shall 
be  comfortable." 

A  fine  stroke  of  art  is  the  character  of  the  third  sister, 
Mrs.  Price.  She  resembles  by  nature  more  the  easy  and 
indolent  Lady  Bertram  than  the  bustling  and  managing 
Mrs.  Norris.  Her  imprudent  marriage  has  forced  her 
into  the  management  of  a  poor  and  troublesome  house- 
hold, for  which  she  is  quite  unfit.  "Her  days  were 
spent  in  a  kind  of  slow  bustle ;  always  busy  without 
getting  on  ;  always  behindhand,  and  lamenting  it 
without  altering  her  ways ;  wishing  to  be  an  economist 
without  contrivance  or  regularity;  dissatisfied  with  her 
servants  without  skill  to  make  them  better,  and  whether 
helping  or  reprimanding  or  indulging  them,  without  any 

II 


1G2  LIFE  OF 

power  of  engaging  their  respect."  "  She  might  have 
made  just  as  good  a  woman  of  consequence  as  Lady 
Bertram,  but  Mrs.  Norris  would  have  been  a  more 
respectable  mother  of  more  children  on  a  small  income." 
A  bit  of  justice,  by  the  way,  is  here  done  even  to  Mrs. 
Norris,  who  had  energy  and  management,  if  she  had 
nothing  else.  It  is  a  fine  touch  in  the  description  of 
Mrs.  Price  that  "her  voice  resembled  the  soft  monotony 
of  Lady  Bertram's,  only  worn  into  fretfulness.'' 

There  is  nothing  in  Zola  more  realistic,  if  that  some- 
what disagreeable  word  must  be  used,  than  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  Price  household  : 

"  She  (Fanny)  was  deep  in  other  musing.  Tlie  remembrance  of 
her  first  evening  in  that  room,  of  her  father  and  his  newspaper, 
came  across  her.  No  candle  was  iiaio  wanted.  The  sun  was  yet 
an  hour  and  a  half  above  the  horizon.  She  felt  that  she  had, 
indeed,  been  three  months  there  ;  and  the  sun's  rays  falling  strongly 
into  the  parlour,  instead  of  cheering,  made  her  still  more  melancholy, 
for  sunshine  appeared  to  her  a  totally  different  thing  in  a  town  and 
ill  the  country.  Here,  its  power  was  only  a  glare  ;  a  stifling,  sickly 
glare,  serving  but  to  bring  forward  stains  and  dirt  that  might  otherwise 
have  slept.  There  was  neither  health  nor  gaiety  in  sunshine  in  a 
town.  She  sat  in  a  blaze  of  oppressive  heat,  in  a  cloud  of  moving 
dust,  and  her  eyes  could  only  wander  from  the  walls,  marked  by 
her  father's  head,  to  the  table  cut  and  notched  by  her  brothers, 
where  stood  the  tea-board,  never  thoroughly  cleaned,  the  cups  and 
saucers  wiped  in  streaks,  the  milk  a  mixture  of  motes  floating  in 
thin  blue,  and  tlie  bread  and  butter  growing  every  minute  more 
greasy  than  even  Rebecca's  hands  had  first  produced  it.  Her  father 
read  his  newspaper,  and  her  mother  lamented  over  the  ragged 
carpet  as  usual,  while  the  tea  was  in  preparation,  and  wished 
Rebecca  would  mend  it." 

This  series  of  scenes,  however,  though  it  vies  with 


JANE  AUSTEN.  163 

Zola  in  realism,  has  nothing  of  Zola's  repulsiveness,  and 
it  is  relieved  by  a  touch  of  pathos  : 

"Fanny  was  silent ;  but  not  from  being  convinced  that  there  might 
not  be  a  remedy  found  for  some  of  these  evils.  As  she  now  sat 
lool'iing  at  Betsey,  she  could  not  but  think  particularly  of  another 
sister,  a  very  pretty  little  girl,  whom  she  had  left  there  not  much 
younger  when  she  went  into  Northamptonshire,  who  had  died  a  few 
years  afterwards.  There  had  been  something  remarkably  amiable 
about  her.  Fanny  in  those  early  days  had  preferred  her  to  Susan  ; 
and  when  the  news  of  her  death  had  at  last  reached  Mansfield,  had 
for  a  short  time  been  quite  afflicted.  The  sight  of  Betsey  brought  the 
image  of  little  Mary  back  again,  but  she  would  not  have  pained  her 
mother  by  alluding  to  her  for  the  world.  While  considering  her  with, 
these  ideas,  Betsey,  at  a  small  distance,  was  holding  out  something 
to  catch  her  eyes,  meaning  to  screen  it  at  the  same  time  from 
Susan's. 

"  '  What  have  you  got  there,  my  love  ? '  said  Fanny,  *  come  and 
show  it  to  me.' 

"  It  was  a  silver  knife.  Up  jumped  Susan,  claiming  it  as  her 
own,  and  trying  to  get  it  away ;  but  the  child  ran  to  her  mother's 
protection,  and  Susan  could  only  reproach,  which  she  did  very 
warmly,  and  evidently  hoping  to  interest  Fanny  on  her  side.  '  It 
was  very  hard  that  she  was  not  to  have  her  oivii  knife ;  it  was  her 
own  knife  ;  little  sister  Mary  had  left  it  to  her  upon  her  death-bed, 
and  she  ought  to  have  had  it  to  keep  herself  long  ago.  But 
mamma  kept  it  from  her,  and  was  always  letting  Betsey  get  hold 
of  it ;  and  the  end  of  it  would  be  that  Betsey  would  spoil  it,  and 
get  it  for  her  own,  though  mamma  had  promised  her  that  Betsey 
should  not  have  it  in  her  own  hands.' 

"Fanny  was  quite  shocked.  Every  feeling  of  duty,  honour, 
and  tenderness,  was  wounded  by  her  sister's  speech  and  her  mother's 
reply. 

"  'Now,  Susan,'  cried  Mrs.  Price,  in  a  complaining  voice,  'now, 
how  can  you  be  so  cross  ?  You  are  always  quarrelling  about  that 
knife,  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  quarrelsome.  Poor  little 
Betsey  ;  how  cross  Susan  is  to  you  !  But  you  should  not  have  taken 
it  out,  my  dear,  when  I  sent  you  to  the  drawer.     You  know  I  told 


164  LIFE  OF 

)'0U  not  to  touch  it,  because  Susan  is  so  cross  about  it.  I  must  hide 
it  another  time,  Betsey.  Poor  Mary  little  thought  it  would  be  such 
a  bone  of  contention  when  she  gave  it  me  to  keep,  only  two  hours 
before  she  died.  Poor  little  soul  !  she  could  but  just  speak  to  be 
heard,  and  she  said  so  prettily,  "  Let  sister  Susan  have  my  knife, 
mamma,  when  I  am  dead  and  buried."  Poor  little  dear!  she  was 
so  fond  of  it,  Fanny,  that  she  would  have  it  lie  by  her  in  bed,  all 
through  her  illness.  It  was  the  gift  of  her  good  godmother,  old 
Mrs.  Admiral  Maxwell,  only  six  weeks  before  she  was  taken  for 
death.  Poor  little  sweet  creature  !  Well,  she  was  taken  away 
from  evil  to  come.  My  own  Betsey  (fondling  her),  you  have  not 
the  luck  of  such  a  good  godmother.  Aunt  N  orris  lives  too  far  oft 
to  think  of  such  little  people  as  you.'  " 

It  has  been  said  that  in  the  character  of  Lieutenant 
Price,  and  in  that  of  Admiral  Crawford,  Jane  Austen, 
devoted  as  she  was  to  the  navy,  has  shown  her  impar- 
tiality by  letting  us  see  the  bad  side  of  the  profession. 
Admiral  Crawford,  however,  though  he  is  a  power  of  evil 
in  the  distance,  does  not  come  upon  the  scene,  and  his 
keeping  a  mistress  has  nothing  to  do  with  his  profession. 
Lieutenant  Price  is  not  a  sailor,  but  a  marine.  However, 
it  will  be  observed  that  Lieutenant  Price,  though  sadly 
fallen  in  moral  and  menial  as  well  as  in  material  estate, 
still  has  the  gentleman  in  him,  and  can  show  that  he  has 
when  the  remnant  of  his  self-respect  is  roused  by  contact 
with  Henry  Crawford. 

That  Jane  Austen  introduced  real  persons  of  her 
acquaintance  into  her  novels  and  made  game  of  them, 
we  may  be  sure  is  a  baseless  surmise.  Her  comic 
characters  are,  like  those  of  Molifere,  thoroughly  generic, 
with  only  enough  of  individual  feature  to  constitute 
personality.  Much  less  can  we  suppose  her  capable  of 
that  vilest  and  most  cowardly  of  all  kinds  of  libelling 


JANE  AUSTEN.  165 

which  consists  in  traducing  living  and  recognizable 
persons  under  fictitious  names.  But  there  is  nothing  to 
hinder  our  believing  that  those  whom  she  loved  appear 
in  her  pages.  Her  sister  Cassandra  is  certainly  there,  if 
not  as  a  distinct  portrait,  as  a  general  model  of  tender- 
ness combined  with  good  sense  and  of  sisterly  affection. 
Nor  can  we  doubt  that,  in  "  Mansfield  Park,"  William, 
Fanny's  sailor  brother,  represents  one  of  the  sailor 
brothers  of  Jane  Austen.  A  particular  incident  marks 
the  connection.  William  brings  Fanny  a  cross  as  a 
present.  In  one  of  her  letters  Jane  Austen  says, 
"Charles  has  received  ;^3o  for  his  share  of  the  pri- 
vateer, and  expects  ;!^io  more  ;  but  of  what  avail  is  it  to 
take  prizes  if  he  lays  out  the  produce  in  presents  to  his 
sisters?  He  has  been  buying  gold  chains  and  topaz 
crosses  for  us.  He  must  be  well  scolded."  A  fine 
picture  of  the  noble  profession,  with  its  frankness,  its 
devotion  to  duty,  its  cheerfulness  under  perils  and  hard- 
ships, the  character  of  William  is  : 

"  William  was  often  called  on  by  his  unele  to  be  the  talker.  His 
recitals  were  amusing  in  themselves  to  Sir  Thomas,  but  the  chief 
object  in  seeking  them  was  to  understand  the  reciter,  to  know  the 
young  man  by  his  histories ;  and  he  listened  to  his  clear,  simple, 
spirited  details  with  full  satisfaction,  seeing  in  them  the  proof  of 
good  principles,  professional  knowledge,  energy,  courage,  and 
cheerfulness,  everything  that  could  deserve  or  promise  well. 
Young  as  he  was,  William  had  already  seen  a  great  deal.  He 
had  been  in  the  Mediterranean  ;  in  the  West  Indies  ;  in  the  Medi- 
terranean again;  had  been  often  taken  on  shore  by  the  favour  of  his 
captain,  and  in  the  course  of  seven  years  had  known  every  variety 
of  danger  which  sea  and  war  together  could  offer.  With  such 
means  in  his  power  he  had  a  right  to  be  listened  to ;  and  though 
Mrs.  Norris  could  fidget  about  the  room,  and  disturb  everybody  in 


166  LIFE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

quest  of  two  needlefuls  of  thread  or  a  second-hand  shirt  button,  in 
the  midst  of  her  nephew's  account  of  a  shipwreck  or  an  engage- 
ment, everybody  else  was  attentive  ;  and  even  Lady  Bertram  could 
not  hear  of  such  horrors  unmoved,  or  without  sometimes  lifting  her 
eyes  from  her  work  to  say,  'Dear  me !  how  disagreeable  !  I  wonder 
anybody  can  ever  go  to  sea.' 

"  To  Henry  Crawford  they  gave  a  different  feeling.  He  longed 
to  have  been  at  sea,  and  seen  and  done  and  suffered  as  much.  His 
heart  was  warmed,  his  fancy  fired,  and  he  felt  tlie  highest  respect 
for  a  lad  who,  before  he  was  twenty,  had  gone  through  such  bodily 
hardships,  and  given  such  proofs  of  mind.  The  glory  of  heroism, 
of  usefulness,  of  exertion,  of  endurance,  made  his  own  habits  of 
selfish  indulgence  appear  in  shameful  contrast  ;  and  he  wished  he 
had  been  a  William  Price,  distinguishing  himself  and  working  his 
way  to  fortune  and  consequence  with  so  much  self-respect  and 
happy  ardour,  instead  of  what  he  was  ! '' 

No  more  exquisite  tribute  to  the  boy's  heroic  calling 
could  be  imagined  than  the  self-reproach  with  which 
this  brilliant  and  idolized  man  of  the  world  listens  to 
William's  artless  narrative. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PERSUASION  "  was  the  last  work  of  Miss  Austen. 
When  it  was  written  the  hand  of  death  was  upon 
her,  and  when  the  last  touch  was  put  to  it  she  was  very 
near  her  end.  We  can  therefore  hardly  help  applying  in 
some  measure  to  herself  what  she  says  of  Lady  Elliot, 
that  "  she  had  found  enough  in  her  duties,  her  friends, 
and  her  children  to  attach  her  to  life  and  make  it  no 
matter  of  indifference  to  her  when  she  was  called  on  to 
quit  them."  That  she  would  feel  the  value  of  life,  and 
yet  quit  it  with  resignation,  is  what  we  should  expect 
of  a  character  like  Jane  Austen.  There  is  also  a  passage 
on  the  melancholy  charms  of  autumn  which  reminds  us 
the  writer's  leaf  was  falling  into  the  sere,  though  it  is  fol- 
lowed and  relieved  by  an  allusion  to  the  farmer  ploughing 
in  hope  of  the  spring.  Perhaps  there  is  a  shade  of  pen- 
siveness  over  the  whole  novel,  and  in  parts  an  increased 
tenderness  of  sentiment  such  as  comes  with  the  evening 
hour.  "  Persuasion  "  has  had  passionate  admirers  in  two 
persons  not  unqualified  to  judge— Miss  Martineau  and 
Miss  Mitford.  Though  as  a  whole  not  so  well  con- 
structed as  others  of  Jane  Austen's  novels,  it  may  be 
said   to   contain   the    finest   touches    of    her   art.      Its 


168  LIFE  OF 

principal  character,  the  tender,  sensitive,  and  sufifering 
Anne  EUiot,  is  also  perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  Jane 
Austen's  women,  setting  aside  the  totally  different  charm 
of  the  blooming  and  joyous  Emma.  The  title  denotes 
the  gentle  influences  which  persuade  an  injured  and 
resentful  lover  after  the  lapse  of  years  to  return  to  his 
early  love.  Anne  Elliot  is  the  second  daughter  of  Sir 
Walter  Elliot,  of  Kellynch,  a  baronet  absurdly  proud  of 
his  title  and  inflated  with  a  ridiculous  sense  of  his  own 
consequence.  Sir  Walter  is  a  widower.  The  eldest 
daughter,  Elizabeth,  is  the  beauty  and  her  father's  pride ; 
Mary  is  married  to  Charles  Musgrove,  heir  to  a  large 
estate;  and  Anne,  in  spite  or  rather  because  of  her 
refinement  of  mind  and  sweet  gentleness  of  character, 
is  the  Cinderella  of  the  family.  When  the  baronet 
and  Elizabeth  go  to  town  for  the  season,  Anne  is  left  at 
home.  A  few  years  before  she  had  been  a  very  pretty 
girl,  but  her  bloom  had  vanished  early,  as  much  from 
sadness  as  from  lapse  of  years,  and  "  as  even  when  it  was 
at  its  height  her  father  had  found  little  to  admire  in  mild 
dark  eyes  and  delicate  features,  which  had  nothing  in 
common  with  his  own,  he  could  think  nothing  of  her 
when  she  was  faded  and  thin,  and  moreover  could  no 
longer  be  expected  to  add  by  marriage  to  the  honours  of 
his  family  tree."  She  is,  however,  appreciated  by  Lady 
Russell,  the  great  friend  of  her  mother  and  counsellor  of 
the  family,  who  lives  near  Kellynch.  Seven  years  before, 
her  troth  had  been  plighted  to  Captain  Wentworth,  of  the 
Navy ;  but  she  had  rather  weakly  allowed  the  match  to 
be  broken  off,  yielding  chiefly  to  the  argument  that  it 
would  be  injurious  to  Captain  Wentworth,  who  was  then 


JANE  A  USTEN.  169 

just  entering  on  his  profession  and  had  his  future  to 
make.  Lady  Russell,  wise  and  good,  but  not  infallible, 
had  the  principal  hand  in  the  business.  Anne  has,  how- 
ever, kept  the  image  of  Captain  Wentworth  in  her  heart, 
has  loved  no  one  else,  has  rejected  Charles  Musgrove, 
whom  her  sister  afterwards  married,  and  feels  at  twenty- 
seven  that  she  was  ill-advised  at  nineteen.  Captain 
Wentworth  in  the  meantime  has  risen  in  his  profession, 
has  made  money  by  captures  in  the  war,  and  is  now 
anxious  to  marry.  Anne,  whose  weakness  he  resents, 
he  has  cast  out  of  his  heart,  only  retaining  her  image  as 
that  of  the  sort  of  woman  whom  he  desires  for  a  wife.  Sir 
Walter  Elliot,  in  trying  to  keep  up  his  state  as  a  baronet, 
gets  into  debt,  and  as  he  finds  it  impossible  to  retrench 
on  the  scene  of  his  grandeur,  lets  Kellynch  Hall,  which 
is  taken  by  Admiral  Croft,  whose  wife  is  the  sister  of 
Captain  Wentworth.  "A  few  months  more,  and  he^ 
perhaps,  may  be  walking  here." 

Sir  Walter  goes  off  to  Bath,  taking  with  him  his 
eldest  daughter  and  a  Mrs.  Clay,  a  widow,  the  daughter 
of  his  solicitor,  a  sinister  personage  who,  though  she  has 
freckles,  is  fascinating  as  well  as  designing.  The  despised 
and  neglected  Anne  is  for  the  present  left  behind,  to  pass 
her  time  first  at  Uppercross,  where  her  sister  Mary 
and  her  brother-in-law,  Charles  Musgrove,  inhabit  the 
cottage,  and  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Musgrove  with  their 
two  daughters,  Henrietta  and  Louisa,  inhabit  the 
mansion,  and  afterwards  at  the  house  of  Lady  Russell. 
Captain  Wentworth  of  course  appears  upon  the  scene : 
he  comes  to  stay  with  the  Crofts  at  Kellynch  Hall,  and 
Anne's  heart  at  once  tells  her  that  he  is  all  that  he  ever 


170  LIFE  OF 

was  to  her.  But  the  man,  passing  an  active  and  adven- 
turous Hfe  at  sea,  has  had  a  good  deal  more  to  efface 
his  impressions.  He  meets  his  former  love  with  cold 
politeness,  and  Anne  soon  hears  that  he  has  said  of  her 
that  she  was  so  changed  in  looks  that  he  would  not 
have  known  her.  She,  alas  !  cannot  say  the  same  about 
him,  and  here  again  the  man  has  the  advant.ige.  Their 
intercourse  continues,  and  in  the  description  of  its 
incidents,  and  of  the  feelings  of  Anne,  Jane  Austen's 
highest  art  is  exerted.  Captain  Wentworth  avows  him- 
self anxious  to  marry.  Henrietta  and  Lousia  Musgrove, 
both  of  them  charming,  though  not  like  Anne  ElHot,  are 
ready  to  fall  into  his  arms.  He  seems  at  first  to  prefer 
Henrietta ;  but  at  last  Anne,  looking  on  with  throbbing 
heart,  is  convinced  that  he  has  fixed  upon  Louisa.  A 
party  of  pleasure  is  made  to  Lyme,  where  they  meet  the 
interesting  Captain  Benwick,  a  naval  officer  who  is  in 
melancholy  retirement,  having  lost  his  betrothed.  There 
also  they  fall  in  by  accident  with  Mr.  William  Elliot,  a 
gentleman  who  has  hitherto  appeared  in  the  background 
as  the  heir-presumptive  to  Sir  Walter's  baronetcy,  but 
on  bad  terms  with  Sir  Walter  and  his  family,  being 
loaded  with  the  triple  guilt  of  failing  to  marry  Elizabeth, 
who  was  destined  for  him,  marrying  another  woman, 
wealthy  but  of  low  family,  and  speaking  contemptuously 
of  the  title  and  its  wearer.  He  has  recently  lost  his 
objectionable  wife.  Mr.  William  Elliot  does  not  recog- 
nize Anne  and  her  party,  nor  do  they,  till  he  is  gone,  find 
out  who  he  is ;  but  he  is  evidently  struck  with  Anne,  and 
gazes  at  her  with  an  earnest  admiration,  of  which  she 
could  not  be  insensible.     "  She  was  looking  remarkably 


JANE  AUSTEN.  171 

well ;  her  very  regular,  very  pretty  features  having  the 
bloom  and  freshness  of  youth  restored  by  the  fine  wind 
which  had  been  blowing  on  her  complexion,  and  by 
the  animation  of  eye  which  it  had  also  produced.  It 
was  evident  that  the  gentleman  admired  her  exceedingly. 
Captain  Wentworth  looked  round  at  her  instantly  in  a 
way  which  showed  his  noticing  of  it.  He  gave  her  a 
momentary  glance — a  glance  of  brightness,  which  seemed 
to  say,  '  That  man  is  struck  with  you — and  even  I,  at 
this  moment,  see  something  like  Anne  Elliot  again.' " 
For  the  present,  however.  Captain  Wentworth's  heart 
appears  to  be  carried  strongly  in  another  direction. 
Louisa  Musgrove,  while  he  is  jumping  her  down  some 
steps,  falls,  gives  herself  a  serious  blow  on  the  head,  is 
carried  off  senseless,  and  lies  long  between  life  and 
death.  In  the  scenes  which  ensue,  Anne  shows  her 
superiority  of  sense  and  self-possession.  Wentworth's 
manner,  however,  on  the  afflicting  occasion  is  that  of  a 
devoted  lover,  and  Anne,  when  she  goes  off  with  Lady 
Russell  to  join  her  father  and  sister  at  Bath,  regards  him 
as  lost  to  her  and  affianced  to  another,  so  that  there  is 
nothing  left  for  her  but  perpetual  widowhood  of  the 
heart.  At  Bath,  where  Sir  Walter  and  Elizabeth,  with 
the  designing  Mrs.  Clay,  are  established  in  sufficient 
dignity  in  Camden  Place,  Mr.  William  Elliot  again 
appears,  and  soon  begins  to  lay  close  siege  to  Anne. 
He  is  apparently  a  most  eligible  gentleman,  socially 
accomplished  and  with  much  charm  of  manner.  He  is 
also  wealthy,  and  the  heir  to  the  baronetcy,  and  to  Kel- 
lynch.  He  might  succeed  if  the  fort  were  not  held  against 
him  by  another,  though  now  hopeless,  attachment. 


172  LIFE  OF 

Suddenly,  in  the  postscript  of  a  letter  from  Mary, 
comes  the  surprising  announcement  that  not  Captain 
Wentworth,  but  Captain  Benwick  is  engaged  to  Louisa 
Musgrove,  over  whom  he  has  been  hanging  in  her  pro- 
tracted struggle  for  life  at  Lyme.  It  is  a  curious  turn 
of  affairs,  especially  as  Captain  Benwick's  movements 
had  for  a  moment  created  a  false  impression  that  he  had 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Anne  herself.  As  "there  was  fine 
naval  fervour  to  begin  with,"  Anne  sees  no  reason  why 
the  pair  should  not  be  happy,  while  the  vista  of  happi- 
ness which  had  seemed  finally  closed,  opens  again  to  her. 
Captain  Wentworth  comes  to  Bath,  and  the  reason  of 
his  coming  presently  appears,  though  the  suspense  is 
still  kept  up  and  the  gradual  manifestation  of  returning 
love  is  managed  with  much  art.  After  a  certain  inter- 
view with  him,  "  Anne  said  nothing,  thought  nothing  of 
the  brilliancy  of  the  room.  Her  happiness  was  from 
within.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  and  her  cheeks  glowed  ; 
but  she  knew  nothing  about  it.  She  was  thinking  only 
of  the  last  half-hour,  and  as  they  passed  to  their  seats  her 
mind  took  a  hasty  range  over  it.  His  choice  of  subjects, 
his  expressions,  and  still  more  his  manner  and  his  look, 
had  been  such  as  she  could  see  in  only  one  light.  His 
opinion  of  Louisa  Musgrove's  inferiority,  an  opinion 
which  he  had  seemed  solicitous  to  give,  his  wonder  at 
Captain  Benwick,  his  feelings  as  to  a  first,  strong  attach- 
ment— sentences  begun  which  he  could  not  finish,  his 
half-averted  eyes  and  more  than  half-expressive  glance — 
all,  all  declared  that  he  had  a  heart  returning  to  her  at 
last ;  that  anger,  resentment,  avoidance  were  no  more ; 
and  that  they  were  succeeded  not  merely  by  friendship 


JANE  AUSTEN.  173 

and  regard,  but  by  the  tenderness  of  the  past — yes,  some 
share  of  the  tenderness  of  the  past.  She  could  not 
contemplate  the  change  as  implying  less.  He  must  love 
her."  Before  long,  matters  have  reached  such  a  point, 
that  "  prettier  musings  of  high-wrought  love  and  eternal 
constancy  could  never  have  passed  along  the  streets  of 
Bath  than  Anne  was  sporting  with  from  Camden  Place 
to  Westgate  Buildings.  It  was  almost  enough  to  spread 
purification  and  perfume  all  the  way."  Mr.  William 
Elliot  is  still  there,  but  Anne  falls  in  with  a  Mrs.  Smith, 
a  widow  to  whose  husband  Mr.  Elliot  had  behaved 
badly,  learns  from  her  his  history,  and  is  assured  that  he 
is  "a  man  without  heart  or  conscience,  a  designing, 
wary,  cold-blooded  being,  who  thinks  only  of  himself; 
who,  for  his  own  interest  and  ease,  would  be  guilty  of 
any  cruelty  or  any  treachery  that  could  be  perpetrated 
without  risk  of  his  general  character."  His  object,  it 
seems,  is  partly  to  countermine  the  projects  of  Mrs. 
Clay,  who  is  still  staying  at  Sir  Walter  ElUot's,  and  if 
she  could  induce  the  Baronet  to  marry  her,  might  cut  the 
heir-presumptive  out  of  the  title  and  estate.  This  puts 
him  out  of  the  field.  Still  Captain  Wentworth's  declara- 
tion hangs  fire.  It  comes,  at  last,  in  the  form  of  a  letter 
declaring  that  he  loves  Anne  more  than  when  she  almost 
broke  his  heart  eight  years  before.  At  Lyme,  he  says, 
he  had  received  more  than  one  lesson.  Mr.  EUiot's 
passing  admiration  had  roused  him,  and  Anne's  conduct 
on  the  occasion  of  Louisa's  accident  had  fixed  her 
superiority  in  his  mind.  He  is  of  course  accepted  with 
rapture.  The  Baronet,  considering  Wentworth's  twenty- 
five  thousand  pounds  and  his  name,  thinks  him  good 


174  LIFE  OF 

enough  for  Anne,  and  is  willing  to  insert  his  name  in  the 
Baronetage  as  that  of  her  husband.  Mr.  William 
Elliot  and  Mrs.  Clay  go  off  to  the  places  appointed  for 
them,  and  "  Persuasion  "  has  done  its  work. 

Of  the  minor  characters  the  most  amusing  is  Sir 
Walter  Elliot,  with  his  ridiculous  family  pride  and  self- 
importance,  and  the  meanness  of  soul  by  which  they 
are  naturally  accompanied.  The  scene  is  very  good  iw. 
which,  with  the  agony  of  a  monarch  abdicating  his 
throne,  he  consents  to  let  Kellynch  Hall,  treating  his 
tenant  as  a  person  who  is  receiving  an  immense  favour, 
and  who  will  receive  a  vast  accession  of  consequence  at 
his  hands.  He  is  comforted  by  the  thought  that  the 
Hall  is  let  to  an  Admiral,  not  to  a  Mr. ;  because  a  Mr. 
requires  explanation,  whereas  an  Admiral  bespeaks  his 
own  consequence  and  at  the  same  time  can  never  make 
a  Baronet  look  small.  He  drives  off  "  prepared  with  con- 
descending bows  for  all  the  afthcted  tenantry  and  cottagers 
who  might  have  had  a  hint  to  show  themselves."  The 
picture  of  his  social  Hfe  at  Bath,  in  reduced  grandeur 
but  with  unreduced  pretensions,  is  very  good,  and 
nothing  can  be  more  natural  than  the  manner  in  which 
he  combines  with  airs  of  supreme  insolence  towards  all 
whom  he  thinks  below  him  in  rank,  servile  worship  of 
those  who  are  above  him,  such  as  Lady  Dalrymple  and 
her  daughter.  His  personal  vanity  is  as  great  as  his 
family  pride.     Here  is  a  scene  in  which  it  is  played  off : 

"Mr.  Elliot,  and  his  friends  in  Marlborough  Buildings,  were  talked 
of  the  whole  evening.  '  Colonel  Wallis  had  been  so  impatient  to 
be  introduced  to  them  ;  and  Mr.  Elliot  so  anxious  that  he  should  ; ' 
and  there  was  a  Mrs.  Wallis,  at  present  known  only  to  them  by 


JANE  A  USTEN.  175 

description,  as  she  was  in  daily  expectation  of  her  confinement ; 
but  Mr.  Elliot  spoke  of  her  as    'a  most  charming  woman,  quite 
worthy  of  being  known  in  Camden  Place,'  and  as  soon  as  she  re- 
covered they  were  to  be  acquainted.     Sir  Walter  thought  much  of 
Mrs.   Wallis;  she  was  said  to  be  an   excessively  pretty   woman, 
beautiful.     '  He  longed  to  see  her.    He  hoped  she  might  make  some 
amends  for  the  many  very  plain  faces  he  was  continually  passing 
in   the  streets.     The  woist  of  Bath  was  the  number  of  its  plain 
women.     He  did  not  mean  to  say  that  there  were  no  pretty  women, 
but  the  number  of  the  plain  was  out  of  all  proportion.     He  had 
frequently  observed,  as  he  walked,  that  one  handsome  face  would 
be  followed  by  thirty,  or  five-and-thirty  frights ;  and  once,  as  he 
had  stood  in  a  shop  in  Bond  Street,  he  had  counted  eighty-seven 
women  go  by,  one  after  another,  without  there  being  a  tolerable 
face  among  them.     It  had  been  a  frosty  morning,  to  be  sure,  a  sharp 
frost,  which  hardly  one  woman  in  a  thousand  could  stand  the  test 
of.     But  still,  there  certainly  were  a  dreadful  multitude  of  ugly 
women  in  Bath  ;  and  as  for  the  men  !  they  were  infinitely  worse. 
Such  scarecrows  as  the  streets  were  full  of !     It  was  evident  how 
little  the  women  were  used  to  the  sight  of  anything  tolerable,  by 
the  effect  which  a  man  of  decent  appearance  produced.     He  had 
never  walked  anywhere  arm-in-arm  with  Colonel  Wallis  (who  was 
a  fine  military  figure,  though  sandy-haired)  without  observing  that 
every  woman's  eye  was  upon  him  ;  every  woman's  eye  was  sure  to 
be  upon  Colonel  Wallis.'    Modest  Sir  Walter  1    He  was  not  allowed 
to  escape,  however.     His  daughter  and  Mrs.  Clay  united  in  hinting 
that  Colonel  Wallis's  companion  might  have  as  good  a  figure  as 
Colonel  Wallis,  and  certainly  was  not  sandy-haired." 

Like  Mr.  Woodhouse's  valetudinarianism,  Sir  Walter 
Elliot's  conceit  is  a  little  overdrawn.  He  is  made  to  say 
that  he  had  given  somebody  a  passport  to  society,  by 
being  seen  with  him  once  in  the  House  of  Commons 
and  twice  at  Tattersall's.  If  he  had  belonged  either  to 
the  House  gf  Commons  or  to  Tattersall's,  he  would  have 
had  some  of  his  conceit  and  insolence  knocked  out  of 
him.     This  a  woman  did  not  know. 


176  LIFE  OF 

Anne's  sisters,  Elizabeth  and  Mary,  are  foils  to  Anne. 
Elizabeth's  coldness  of  heart  and  selfishness  are  touched 
off  in  her  response  to  her  father's  anxious  inquiry  about 
the   possibility  of  retrenchment.     "  To  do  her  justice, 
she  had,  in  the  first  ardour  of  female  alarm,  set  seriously 
to  think  what  could  be  done,  and  had  finally  proposed 
these  two  branches  of  economy — to  cut  off  some  un- 
necessary charities,  and  to  refrain  from  new  furnishing 
the  drawing-room ;  to  which  expedients  she  afterwards 
added  the  happy  thought  of  their  taking  no  present  down 
(from  London)  to  Anne,  as  had  been  their  usual  yearly 
custom,"     Mary's   querulous   and   hypocritical  self-love 
is  well  painted  in  the  scene  in  which  she  finds  pretexts 
for  deserting  her  sick  child  to  go  to  a  dinner-party,  and 
leaving  her  sister  to  supply  her  place.      She  manages 
to  find  in  her  maternal   sensibilities  an  excuse  for  her 
abandonment  of  a  mother's  duty.     But  her  self-love,  her 
querulousness,  and  the  silly  inconsistency  of  her  judg- 
ments of  people,  always  shifting  with  trivial  impressions 
of  the  hour,  are  together  depicted  in  her  letter  to  her 
sister,  which,  as  a  stroke  of  art  in  the  epistolary  revela- 
tion of  character,  forms  a  counterpart  of  Lady  Bertram's 
letter  to  Fanny  in  "  Mansfield  Park." 

^'■February  I . 

"  My  dear  Anne, — I  make  no  apology  for  my  silence,  because 
I  know  how  little  people  think  of  letters  in  such  a  place  as  Bath. 
You  must  be  a  great  deal  loo  happy  to  care  for  Uppercross,  which, 
as  you  well  know,  affords  little  to  write  about.  We  have  had  a  very 
dull  Christmas  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Musgrove  have  not  had  one  dinner- 
parly  all  the  holidays.  I  do  not  reckon  the  Ilaytcrs  as  anybody. 
The  holidays,  however,  are  over  at  last :  I  believe  no  children  ever 
had  such  long  ones.     I  am  sure  I  had  not.     The  house  was  cleared 


JANE  AUSTEN.  177 

yesterday,  except  of  the  little  Harvilles ;  but  you  will  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  they  have  never  gone  home.  Mrs.  Harville  must  be 
an  odd  mother  to  part  with  them  so  long.  I  do  not  understand  it. 
They  are  not  at  all  nice  children,  in  my  opinion  ;  but  Mrs.  Musgrove 
seems  to  like  them  quite  as  well,  if  not  better,  than  her  grand- 
children. What  dreadful  weather  we  have  had  !  It  may  not  be 
felt  in  Bath,  with  your  nice  pavements;  but  in  the  country  it  is 
of  some  consequence.  I  have  not  had  a  creature  call  on  me  since 
the  second  week  in  January,  except  Charles  Hayter,  who  has  been 
calling  much  oftener  than  was  welcome.  Between  ourselves,  I  think 
it  a  great  pity  Henrietta  did  not  remain  at  Lyme  as  long  as  Louisa ; 
it  would  have  kept  her  a  little  out  of  his  way.  The  carriage  is  gone 
to-day,  to  bring  Louisa  and  the  Harvilles  to-morrow.  We  are  not 
asked  to  dine  with  them,  however,  till  the  day  after,  Mrs.  Musgrove 
is  so  afraid  of  her  being  fatigued  by  the  journey,  which  is  not  very 
likely,  considering  the  care  that  will  be  taken  of  her  ;  and  it  would 
be  much  more  convenient  to  me  to  dine  there  to-morrow.  I  am 
glad  you  find  Mr.  Elliot  so  agreeable,  and  wish  I  could  be  ac- 
quainted with  him  too  ;  but  I  have  my  usual  luck  :  I  am  always 
out  of  the  way  when  anything  desirable  is  going  on  ;  always  the  last 
of  my  family  to  be  noticed.  WTiat  an  immense  time  Mrs.  Clay  has 
been  staying  with  Elizabeth  !  Does  she  never  mean  to  go  away  ? 
But,  perhaps,  if  she  were  to  leave  the  room  vacant,  we  might  not 
be  invited.  Let  me  know  what  you  think  of  this.  I  do  not  expect 
my  children  to  be  asked,  you  know.  I  can  leave  them  at  the  Great 
House  very  well,  for  a  month  or  six  weeks.  I  have  this  moment 
heard  that  the  Crofts  are  going  to  Bath  almost  immediately  :  they 
think  the  Admiral  gouty.  Charles  heard  it  quite  by  chance  :  they 
have  not  had  the  civility  to  give  me  any  notice,  or  offer  to  take  any- 
thing. I  do  not  think  they  improve  at  all  as  neighbours.  We  see 
nothing  of  them,  and  this  is  really  an  instance  of  gross  inattention. 
Charles  joins  me  in  love,  and  everything  proper. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  Mary  M . 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  am  very  far  from  well ;  and  Jemima 
has  just  told  me  that  the  butcher  says  there  is  a  bad  sore-throat  very 
much  about.  I  dare  say  I  shall  catch  it ;  and  my  sore-throats,  you 
know,  are  always  worse  than  anybody's." 

12 


178  LIFE  OF 

So  ended  the  first  part,  which  had  been  afterwards  put 
into  an  envelope,  containing  nearly  as  much  more. 

"  I  kept  my  letter  open,  that  I  might  send  you  word  how  Louisa 
bore  her  journey,  and  now  I  am  extremely  glad  I  did,  having  a  great 
deal  to  add.  In  the  first  place,  I  had  a  note  from  Mrs.  Croft  yester- 
day, offering  to  convey  anything  to  you  ;  a  very  kind,  friendly  note 
indeed,  addressed  to  me,  just  as  it  ought ;  I  shall  therefore  be  able 
to  make  my  letter  as  long  as  I  like.  The  Admiral  does  not  seem 
very  ill,  and  I  sincerely  hope  Bath  will  do  him  all  the  good  he 
wants.  I  shall  be  truly  glad  to  have  them  back  again.  Our 
neighbourhood  cannot  spare  such  a  pleasant  family.  But  now  for 
Louisa.  I  have  something  to  communicate  that  will  astonish  you 
not  a  little.  She  and  the  Harvilles  came  on  Tuesday  very  safely, 
and  in  the  evening  we  went  to  ask  her  how  she  did,  when  we  were 
rather  surprised  not  to  find  Captain  Benwick  of  the  party,  for  he  had 
been  invited  as  well  as  the  Harvilles  ;  and  what  do  you  think  was 
the  reason  ?  Neither  more  nor  less  than  his  being  in  love  with 
Louisa,  and  not  choosing  to  venture  to  Uppercross  till  he  had  had  an 
answer  from  Mr.  Musgrove  ;  for  it  was  all  settled  between  him  and 
her  before  she  came  away,  and  he  had  written  to  her  father  by 
Captain  Harville.  True,  upon  my  honour  1  Are  you  not  as- 
tonished ?  I  shall  be  surprised  at  least  if  you  ever  received  a  hint 
of  it,  for  I  never  did.  Mrs.  Musgrove  protests  solemnly  that  she 
knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  We  are  all  very  well  pleased,  how- 
ever ;  for  though  it  is  not  equal  to  her  marrying  Captain  Wentworth, 
it  is  infinitely  better  than  Charles  Haytcr  ;  and  Mr.  Musgrove  has 
written  his  consent,  and  Captain  Benwick  is  expected  to-day.  Mrs. 
Harville  says  her  husband  feels  a  good  deal  on  his  poor  sister's 
account  ;  but,  however,  Louisa  is  a  great  favourite  with  both. 
Indeed,  Mrs.  Harville  and  I  quite  agree  that  we  love  her  the  better 
for  having  nursed  her.  Charles  wonders  what  Captain  Wentworth 
will  say ;  but  if  you  remember,  I  never  thought  him  attached  to 
Louisa  ;  I  never  could  see  anything  of  it.  And  this  is  the  end,  you 
see,  of  Captain  Benwick's  being  supposed  to  be  an  admirer  of  yours. 
How  Charles  could  take  such  a  thing  into  his  head  was  always  in- 
comprehensible to  me.     I  hope  he  will  be  more  agreeable  now. 


JANE  AUSTEN.  179 

Certainly  not  a  great  match  for  Louisa  Rlusgrove,  but  a  million 
times  better  than  marrying  among  the  Ilayters." 

Admiral  Croft  is  an  "old  tough,"  as  admirals  seem 
to  have  been  called  in  those  days,  drawn  evidently  from 
the  life  by  one  who  knew  the  navy  well.  When  interro- 
gated about  the  state  of  a  friend,  who  it  was  suspected 
had  been  wounded  in  his  affections,  he  reassures  the 
inquirer  by  telHng  him  that  the  supposed  sufferer  had  not 
used  a  single  oath.  His  wife,  as  seems  to  have  been  the 
fashion  at  that  time,  has  been  a  great  deal  at  sea  with 
him  ;  she  is  a  female  "  old  tough  "  ;  and  the  picture  of 
their  strong  though  refined  affection,  drawn  evidently 
with  hearty  relish  by  Jane  Austen,  is  an  "  old  maid's  " 
tribute  to  the  better  state. 

It  has  been  already  said  that  there  are  some  weak- 
nesses in  the  construction  of  the  novel.  Sir  Walter 
Elliot  and  Elizabeth,  though  they  occupy  a  good  deal 
of  space,  contribute  nothing  or  hardly  anything  to  the 
action.  They  are  a  little  too  like  the  mere  character 
pictures  with  which  we  are  sometimes  presented  in 
place  of  characters  brought  into  play  and  developed  by 
the  action  of  a  well-constructed  plot.  Louisa  Musgrove 
on  one  side,  and  Mr.  William  Elliot  on  the  other,  serve 
to  add  to  the  complexity  and  interest  of  the  movement 
by  which  Captain  Wentworth  is  to  be  reunited  to  Anne. 
But  the  destruction  of  William  Elliot's  character  is  need- 
less, and  strikes  us  as  inartistic,  while  there  is  something 
unnatural  in  his  whole  relation  to  the  Elliot  family,  and 
something  strained  in  the  account  of  his  motives.  The 
purpose  for  which  he  is  introduced  and  afterwards  killed 


180  LIFE  OF  JANE  AUSTEN. 

off  is  too  obvious.  The  transfer  of  Louisa  Musgrove 
from  Captain  Wentworth  to  Captain  Benwick,  again,  is 
abrupt,  and  forced  as  well  as  sudden ;  nor  does  Captain 
Wentworth  come  quite  clear  out  of  the  affair.  The 
description  of  Mrs.  Clay's  artfulness,  and  of  her  sinister 
relation  to  the  foolish  baronet,  leads  us  to  expect  some- 
thing lively  in  that  quarter  ;  but  nothing  comes,  and  Mrs. 
Clay  leaves  the  scene  at  last  a  "pale  and  ineffectual" 
figure,  without  our  being  able  to  see  with  what  object 
she  was  brought  upon  it.  Nor  does  Lady  Russell, 
though  she  seems  intended  for  an  important  part,  do 
much  more  than  solemnly  seal  by  her  ultimate  approba- 
tion the  match  which  she  had  made  a  grand  mistake  in 
breaking  off. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IT  was  natural  that  any  one  who  had  a  manuscript  of 
Jane  Austen  in  his  possession  should  feel  bound  to 
give  it  to  the  world.  But  Jane  Austen  herself  did  not 
give  "  Lady  Susan  "  to  the  world,  nor  can  we  imagine 
that  she  would  have  approved  or  that  she  would  not 
have  earnestly  deprecated  its  publication.  It  is  due  to 
her  to  remember  that  before  her  death  she  was  re- 
moved from  Chawton  to  Winchester  for  medical  advice, 
leaving  her  papers  no  doubt  at  Chawton,  so  that  she 
could  hardly  have  the  opportunity  in  her  last  moments 
of  making  a  selection,  or  of  destroying  those  which  she 
did  not  wish  to  see  the  light.  "  Lady  Susan  "  is  believed 
by  her  family  to  have  been  a  very  early  production.  We 
are  willing  to  see  in  it  a  mere  exercise  which,  when  her 
taste  had  improved,  was  laid  aside.  "  Lady  Susan  "  is 
a  novelette  in  the  form  of  letters.  It  is  truncated  in 
shape,  though  after  a  fashion  it  is  complete.  The 
story  which  it  briefly  and  not  very  clearly  tells,  is  that  of 
a  worthless  though  clever  and  fascinating  woman  who 
carries  on  two  love  intrigues  at  once,  one  with  a  married 
man,  while  in  the  case  of  the  other  she  is  eventually 
supplanted  in  her  lover's  affections  by  her  own  daughter. 


182  LIFE  OF 

She  is  at  the  same  lime  cruelly  ill-treating  her  daughter, 
and  trying  to  force  upon  her  as  a  husband  a  man  whom  she 
hates.  With  that  man,  her  two  intrigues  having  clashed 
and  been  wrecked  by  the  collision,  "  Lady  Susan " 
ultimately  herself  takes  up.  Such  a  plot  is  worthy  of  a 
Parisian  novelist.  Yet  in  reading  "  Lady  Susan,"  though 
you  are  surprised  and  repelled,  you  do  not  in  the  least 
feel  that  the  tastes  or  tendencies  of  the  writer  are 
immoral.  The  very  coldness  and  lifelessness  of  the 
story  preclude  any  imputation  of  that  kind.  The  work, 
we  repeat,  is  best  characterized  as  a  mere  exercise. 
We  have  even  thought  that  the  plot  may  have  been 
borrowed,  and  that,  in  the  unattractive  web,  the  woof 
alone  may  be  Jane  Austen's ;  the  warp  may  have  been 
the  work  of  another  hand.  There  is  nothing  that  we 
can  see  in  this  production  giving  promise  of  the  later 
works,  unless  the  character  of  Lady  Susan  herself 
uniting  charms  with  vices  may  be  regarded  as  a  crude 
and  coarse  germ  of  that  of  Mary  Crawford. 

"Sense  and  Sensibility"  was  at  first,  like  "Lady 
Susan,"  composed  in  the  form  of  letters.  The  authoress 
of  "Evelina"  adopted  the  same  form.  Both  she  and 
Jane  Austen  were  no  doubt  following  Richardson,  whom 
Jane  regarded  with  excessive  admiration.  We  shudder 
at  the  thought  that  a  form  so  awkward  for  narration,  and 
so  fruitful  of  prolixity  and  dulness,  might  have  been  that 
of  all  Jane  Austen's  works.  One  of  its  special  defects 
is  illustrated  by  "Lady  Susan,"  the  wicked  woman  of 
which  is  made  to  write  letters  revealing  her  own  character 
and  designs  with  an  openness  which,  under  a  paternal 
government,  might  have  brought  her  into  the  hands  of 


JANE  A  USTEN.  183 

the  police.  lago  acknowledges  his  villany  to  himself, 
but  he  does  not  disclose  it  to  anybody  else,  much  less 
does  he  entrust  the  disclosure  to  the  post-office.  The 
"Nouvelle  Heloise"  is  not  narrative  or  play  of  character; 
it  is  at  most  a  series  of  situations  giving  occasion  to 
effusions  of  sentiment. 

It  would  be  vain  to  ask  that  "  Lady  Susan  "  should 
not  be  included  in  future  editions  of  Jane  Austen's 
works  ;  but  such,  if  she  could  be  heard,  would  certainly 
be  the  prayer  of  her  shade. 

"  The  Watsons "  is  the  name  given  by  those  who 
published  it  to  a  fragment  to  which  the  writer  had  not 
given  a  name,  and  which  she  had  not  even  divided  into 
chapters.  The  water-mark  on  the  paper  indicates  that  it 
was  written  when  she  was  living  at  Bath,  and  it  appears 
to  have  been  the  only  product  of  those  years.  Assuredly 
it  is  in  the  writer's  mature  style,  and  no  girlish  composi- 
tion. It  is  evidently  unelaborated  as  well  as  incomplete, 
but  it  promises  well,  and  we  lament  that  the  writer  did 
not  finish  it.  Why  she  laid  it  aside  is  unknown :  pro- 
bably her  work  was  interrupted  by  the  social  engagements 
of  Bath,  and  she  lost  interest  or  the  thread  was  broken. 
Her  nephew's  hypothesis  is  that  she  "  became  aware  of 
the  evil  of  having  placed  her  heroine  too  low,  in  such  a 
position  of  poverty  and  obscurity  as,  though  not  neces- 
sarily connected  with  vulgarity,  has  a  sad  tendency  to 
degenerate  into  it,  and  therefore,  like  a  singer  who  has 
begun  on  too  low  a  note,  she  discontinued  the  strain." 
It  must  be  admitted  that  Jane  Austen  was  "  genteel,"  not 
in  the  odious  sense  which  the  word  now  bears,  but  in 


184  LIFE  OF  JANE  A  US  TEN. 

that  which  it  bore  in  her  own  day.  But  the  Watsons  are 
gentlefolk ;  they  go  to  a  ball  where  they  meet  aristocracy, 
though  they  go  in  a  friend's  carriage,  not  in  their  own, 
and,  though  when  aristocratic  acquaintance  call,  Nanny 
and  the  early  dinner  rather  put  the  ladies  to  shame. 
Emma  Watson  becomes  an  object  of  attention  to  a  peer 
and  to  another  man  of  independent  fortune  at  the  same 
time.  It  appears,  from  the  outline  of  the  plot  which  the 
writer  confided  to  her  sister,  that  Emma  was  to  dechne 
an  offer  of  marriage  from  a  peer,  and  to  marry  a  most 
eligible  clergyman.  That  the  story  was  carrying  her  out 
of  the  region  of  gentiUty,  therefore,  can  hardly  have 
been  Jane  Austen's  reason  for  laying  it  aside.  "  The 
Watsons,"  as  Mr.  Austen-Leigh  remarks,  cannot  have 
been  broken  up  for  the  purpose  of  using  the  materials  in 
another  fabric.  Mrs.  Robert  Watson,  with  her  vulgar 
airs  of  fashion,  bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  Mrs. 
Elton;  a  faint  likeness  to  Henry  Crawford,  as  a  gay 
breaker  of  the  hearts  of  women,  may  perhaps  be 
traced  in  Tom  Musgrove ;  and  the  querulous  selfishness 
of  Margaret  foreshadows  that  of  Mary  Musgrove.  No 
other  affinities  appear.  Mr.  Watson  is,  like  Mr.  Wood- 
house,  an  invalid,  but  he  is  not  a  valetudinarian. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CRITICISM  is  becoming  an  art  of  saying  fine  things, 
and  tliere  are  really  no  fine  things  to  be  said  about 
Jane  Austen.  There  is  no  hidden  meaning  in  her ;  no 
philosophy  beneath  the  surface  for  profound  scrutiny  to 
bring  to  light ;  nothing  calling  in  any  way  for  elaborate 
interpretation.  We  read  in  a  recent  critique  of  a  work 
of  fiction  by  Balzac,  "Seraphita,  the  marvellous  creature 
whose  passage  from  Matter  to  Spirit,  from  the  Specialist 
to  the  Divine  conditions,  is  the  theme  of  Balzac's  genius, 
in  this  case  is  intended  to  typify  the  final  function  of  a 
long  course  of  steadfast  upward  working  by  a  soul  which 
has,  by  many  reincarnations,  won  its  way  past  the  In- 
stinctive and  Abstractive  spheres  of  existence,  and  has  at 
length  attained  that  delicate  balance  of  the  material  and 
spiritual  which  is  the  last  possible  manifestation  on  the 
earthly  plane."  Jane  Austen's  characters  typify  nothing, 
for  their  doings  and  sayings  are  familiar  and  common- 
place. Her  genius  is  shown  in  making  the  familiar  and 
commonplace  intensely  interesting  and  amusing.  Perfect 
in  her  finish  and  full  of  delicate  strokes  of  art,  her  works 
require  to  be  read  with  attention,  not  skimmed  as  one 
skims   many  a  novel,  that  they  may  be   fully  enjoyed. 


186  LIFE  OF 

But  whoever  reads  them  attentively  will  fully  enjoy  them 
without  the  help  of  a  commentator. 

Some  think  that  they  see  a  difference  between  the 
early  and  the  later  novels.     It  is  natural  to  look  for  such 
a  difference,  but  for  ourselves  we  must  confess  that  we 
see  it  not.     In  the  first  set  and  in  the  last  set  the  style 
appears  to  us  to  be  the  same;  in  both  equally  clear, 
easy,   and  free  from  mannerism   or  peculiarity  of  any 
kind.     In  both  there  is  the  same  freedom  from  anything 
like  a  straining  after  point  and  epigram,  while  point  and 
epigram  are  not  wanting  when  there  is  natural  occasion  for 
them.     There  are  the  same  archness  and  the  same  quiet 
irony.   The  view  of  life,  society,  and  character  is  essentially 
the  same :  at  least,  we  should  be  surprised  if  any  great 
contradiction  or  variation  could  be  produced.     It  has 
been  said  that  "Northanger  Abbey"  shows  above  all  the 
rest  of  the  novels  the  freshness  and  briskness  of  youth, 
and  this  has  been  ascribed  to  its  having  been  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  writer,  so  that  it  could  not,  like  its  fellows 
of  the  same  epoch,  undergo  revision.     It  is,  as  we  have 
shown,  a  comic  travesty  of  the  romantic  school :  to  its 
satirical   character    its   special    friskiness   is   due.      An 
autumnal  mellowness  of  tone  and  sentiment  has  been 
discovered   in    "Persuasion."      For    this    it   has   been 
already  said   there   seems   to   be   some  foundation :    it 
would  be  wonderful  indeed  if  there  were  none.     The 
sound  of  the  vesper  bell  is  sometimes  heard.     Perhaps 
there  is  something  in  the  tender  and  suffering  character 
of   Anne   Elliot   congenial   to   the   melancholy   of    the 
parting  hour.     Yet  there  are  things  fully  as  sharp  and  as 
nearly  verging  on  cynicism  in  ihc  later  novels  as  in  the 


JANE  AUSTEN.  187 

earlier.  There  is  nothing  more  closely  verging  on 
cynicism  in  the  whole  series  than  the  passage  in  "  Per- 
suasion" mocking  the  "large  fat  sighs"  of  Mrs.  Musgrove 
over  the  early  death  of  her  worthless  son. 

There  are  novelists  who  seem  to  think  that  we  can  do 
without  a  plot,  provided  they  give  us  elaborate  dehneations 
of  character  or  even  picturesque  descriptions  of  scenery. 
But  it  is  difficult,  as  we  have  already  said,  to  create  an 
interest  in  character  apart  from  action ;  while  picturesque 
descriptions  of  scenery,  except  as  the  merest  accessories, 
become  tedious,  word-painting  being,  in  fact,  not  painting 
at  all,  but  a  draft  on  the  imagination  of  the  reader,  who 
has  to  put  together  a  landscape  in  his  mind's  eye,  out  of 
the  verbal  materials  furnished  him,  and  soon  grows 
weary  of  the  effort.  Walter  Scott  always  gives  us  a  good 
plot,  a  plot  at  least  which  carries  us  on  and  excites  our 
interest  in  the  actors.  We  have  endeavoured  to  show  by 
analysis  that  in  this  respect  Jane  Austen  is  not  wanting, 
though  in  some  of  her  plots  there  are  weaknesses  which 
we  have  had  occasion  to  mark.  It  is  true,  we  say  once 
more,  that  her  plots  are  very  unlike  those  of  a  sensation 
novel.  Where  the  sensation  novel  gives  us  murder, 
and  perhaps  carnage  on  a  still  larger  scale,  adulteries, 
bigamies,  desperate  adventures  and  hairbreadth  escapes, 
she  manages  to  amuse  and  almost  to  excite  us  with  the 
scrape  into  which  Emma  gets  by  her  attempt  to  make  a 
match  between  Harriet  and  Mr.  Elton,  or  the  catastrophe 
produced  by  the  sudden  return  of  Sir  Thomas  Bertram 
in  the  midst  of  the  theatricals  at  Mansfield  Park. 

Lord  Brabourne  has  justly  observed  that  the  heroines 
of  Jane  Austen's  novels  are  better  than  the  heroes.     It 


188  LIFE  OF 

could  hardly  fail  to  be  so.  It  could  hardly  be  given  to 
men  or  women  to  understand  the  character  of  the  other 
sex  as  thoroughly  as  that  of  their  own.  Shakespeare's 
women  are  inferior  in  interest  to  his  men  with  the  single 
exception  of  Lady  Macbeth,  who  is  more  man  than 
woman,  though  she  betrays  her  Avomanhood  by  breaking 
down  at  last  under  the  moral  strain  of  conscious  guilt, 
while  nothing  can  pierce  her  consort's  heart  but  the 
sword  of  Macduff.  The  phrase  "  heroes  and  heroines  " 
is  objectionable  in  the  case  of  novels  in  which  there  is 
nothing  heroic.  But  the  principal  figure,  to  use  a  more 
suitable  phrase,  in  each  of  Jane  Austen's  novels  is  not 
a  man,  but  a  woman  or  a  pair  of  women;  in  "Pride 
and  Prejudice"  Elizabeth,  in  "Sense  and  Sensibility" 
the  sisters  Elinor  and  Marianne,  in  "  Northanger 
Abbey"  Catherine  Morland,  in  "Emma"  Miss  Wood- 
house,  in  "  Mansfield  Park "  Fanny  Price,  in  "  Per- 
suasion "  Anne  Elliot.  Each  of  them  has  a  very 
distinct  character,  with  a  charm  of  its  own,  and  is,  we 
have  no  doubt,  a  true  woman.  Of  the  principal  male 
figures  hardly  one  can  be  said  to  have  a  very  distinct 
character  except  Darcy,  and  Darcy,  as  we  have  seen,  is 
made  to  do  and  say  things  which  no  man  of  his  sup- 
posed character  and  sense  would  do  or  say.  Edward 
Ferrars  hardly  has  a  character  at  all.  There  is  nothing 
very  marked  in  those  of  Henry  Tilncy  or  Edmund 
Bertram ;  nor  does  either  of  them,  or  any  one  of  the 
whole  set,  play  any  part  which  specially  calls  for  the 
male  forces,  qualities,  or  passions.  Female  critics  greatly 
admire  Knightley,  but  the  interest  which  we  feel  in 
Knightley  is  derived  not  so  much  from  anything  striking 


JANE  AUSTEN.  189 

in  himself  or  in  the  part  which  he  plays,  as  from  his 
being  the  natural  supplement  of  Emma,  the  corrective 
of  her  little  faults  and  the  support  to  which  her  charming 
weakness  clings.  After  all,  the  manufacture  of  heroes  is 
difficult.  Perfection  does  not  interest.  Of  all  Scott's 
heroes  not  one  is  interesting  except  the  Master  of  Ravens- 
wood,  and  in  his  case  the  interest  is  not  so  much  that  of 
character  as  that  of  circumstance.  It  is  in  the  secondary 
characters  of  Jane  Austen,  the  imperfect,  the  comic, 
and  even  the  bad  that  we  delight.  That  the  comic 
characters  are  sometimes  overdrawn  has  been  already 
admitted,  and  the  apology  has  been  given.  There  never 
was  a  Tartuffe  or  a  M.  Jourdain  any  more  than  there 
was  a  Mr.  Collins  or  a  Mr.  Woodhouse,  a  General  Tilney 
or  a  Lady  Catherine  de  Bourgh,  and  there  is  a  basis  in 
human  nature  for  the  comic  characters  of  Jane  Austen 
as  well  as  for  the  comic  characters  of  Moliere. 

It  is  marvellous  that  Jane  Austen's  range  being  so 
narrow  she  should  have  been  able  to  produce  such 
variety.  But  narrow  we  must  remember  her  range  was, 
and  recurrences  or  partial  recurrences  of  the  same 
characters  and  incidents  are  the  consequence.  We 
cannot  help  seeing  the  likeness  between  Henry  Tilney 
and  Edmund  Bertram,  while  Edward  Ferrars  is  a  feeble 
germ  of  both.  We  have  several  pairs  of  sisters,  and 
sisterly  affection  is  a  constant  theme.  There  is  a  close 
resemblance  between  Wickham  and  Willoughby,  and  a 
considerable  resemblance  between  both  of  them  and 
Henry  Crawford.  To  say  this  may  seem  to  be  flying  in 
the  face  of  Macaulay,  who  has  said,  "  She  [Jane  Austen] 
has  given  us  a  multitude  of  characters,  all,  in  a  certain 


190  LIFE  OF 

sense,  commonplace,  all  such  as  we  meet  every  day. 
Yet  they  are  all  as  perfectly  discriminated  from  each 
other  as  if  they  were  the  most  eccentric  of  human  beings. 
There  are,  for  example,  four  clergymen,  none  of  whom 
we  should  be  surprised  to  find  in  any  parsonage  in  the 
kingdom — Mr.  Edward  Ferrars,  IMr.  Henry  Tilney,  Mr. 
Edmund  Bertram,  and  Mr.  Elton.  They  are  all  speci- 
mens of  the  upper  part  of  the  middle  class.  They  have 
all  been  liberally  educated.  They  all  lie  under  the 
restraints  of  the  same  sacred  profession.  They  are  all 
young.  They  are  all  in  love.  Not  one  of  them  has 
any  hobby-horse,  to  use  the  phrase  of  Sterne.  Not  one 
has  a  ruling  passion,  such  as  we  read  of  in  Pope.  Who 
would  not  have  expected  them  to  be  insipid  likenesses 
of  each  other?  No  such  thing.  Harpagon  is  not  more 
unlike  to  Jourdain,  Joseph  Surface  is  not  more  unlike  to 
Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  than  every  one  of  Miss  Austen's 
young  divines  to  all  his  reverend  brethren.  And  almost 
all  this  is  done  by  touches  so  delicate,  that  they  elude 
analysis,  that  they  defy  the  powers  of  description,  and 
that  we  know  them  to  exist  only  by  the  general  effect 
to  which  they  have  contributed."  But  this  eulogy,  with 
all  deference  be  it  said,  however  eloquent,  will  not  bear 
comparison  with  the  facts.  Henry  Tilney  shines  more  in 
small  talk  than  Edmund  Bertram,  and  his  figure  catches 
some  of  the  special  liveliness  which  pervades  the  travesty; 
but  otherwise  the  two  characters  might  be  transposed 
without  injury  to  either  novel.  Mr.  Elton,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  clerical  idol  of  school-girls,  essentially  low  and 
mean,  with  his  vulgar  and  flashy  wife,  is  distinguished 
from  Henry  and  Edmund  by  the  broadest  difference  of 


JANE  A  USTEN.  191 

■    colour  which  Jane  Austen's    palette  could  supply.     It 
'  may  be  added  that  neither  Henry  Tilney  nor  Edmund 
Bertram  belongs  to  the  middle  class;  both  of  them  belong 
to  the  aristocracy,  though  each  is  a  younger  son. 

In  doing  justice  to  Jane  Austen  and  recommending 
her  in  preference  to  the  unwholesome  products  of  sensa- 
tionalism and  the  careless  manufactures  of  literary  hacks, 
we  do  not  mean  to  take  a  leaf  from  the  crown  of  those 
who  have  dealt  with  nobler  and  more  entrancing  themes. 
The  subjects  which  presented  themselves  to  her  were  of 
the  kind  with  which,  and  with  which  alone,  she  was 
singularly  qualified  by  her  peculiar  temperament  as  well 
as  by  her  special  gifts  and  her  social  circumstances  to 
deal.  But  the  lives  of  these  genteel  idlers  after  all  were 
necessarily  somewhat  vapid,  and  void  of  anything  heroic 
in  action  or  feeling  as  well  as  of  violent  passion  or  tragic 
crime.  Few  sets  of  people,  perhaps,  ever  did  less 
for  humanity  or  exercised  less  influence  on  its  progress 
than  the  denizens  of  Mansfield  Park  and  Pemberley, 
Longbourn  and  Hartfield,  in  Jane  Austen's  day.  As  they 
all  come  before  us  at  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  we  feel  that 
they,  their  lives  and  loves,  their  little  intrigues,  their  petty 
quarrels,  and  their  drawing-room  adventures,  are  the 
lightest  of  bubbles  on  the  great  stream  of  existence, 
though  it  is  a  bubble  which  has  been  made  bright  for 
ever  by  the  genius  of  Jane  Austen. 


THE  END. 


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INDEX, 


Admiralty,    the,    Jane    Austen's 

opinion  of,  47 
Austen,  Cassandra(Jane's  mother), 

13 

Austen,  Cassandra  (Jane's  sister), 

14,  18,  20,  32,  40 
Austen,  Admiral  Charles  (Jane's 

brother),  13 
Austen,  Edward  (Jane's  brother), 

13 

Austen,  Admiral   Francis  (Jane's 

brother),  13 
Austen,     Rev.     George     (Jane's 

father),  12,  30 
Austen,     Rev.      Henry      (Jane's 

brother),  13,  23,  36 
Austen,  James    (Jane's   brother), 

13 

Austen,  Jane,  her  literary  posi- 
tion, II  ;  scanty  records  of  her 
life,  12  ;  her  birth,  12  ;  her  father 
and  family,  12-14,  16-17  ;  her 
surroundings  at  Steventon,  14- 
16  ;  her  home  life  and  personal 
appearance,   17  ;  possible  love  | 


affair,  18-20 ;  limited  literary 
culture,  21-24  ;  early  works,  24  ; 
"  Pride  and  Prejudice,"  "Sense 
and  Sensibility, "  ' '  Northanger 
Abbey,"  24-25  ;  cheerfulness 
under  neglect  of  publishers,  25- 
28  ;  removal  to  Bath,  28  ;  her 
life  there,  29-30  ;  death  of  her 
father,  30 ;  removal  to  South- 
ampton, 30  ;  on  old  maids,  31  ; 
on  dress,  32  ;  removal  to  Chaw- 
ton,  33;  "Emma,"  "Mans- 
field Park,"  and  "  Persuasion," 
33  ;  anonymous  publication  of 
the  novels,  33-4 ;  their  recep- 
tion and  incidents  connected 
therewith,  34-37  ;  illness,  38-40 ; 
death  and  burial  in  Winchester 
Cathedral,  41  ;  her  letters,  42- 
43 ;  principles  of  conduct  as 
shown  in  the  novels,  44-SS ; 
materials  of  the  novels,  56-65  ; 
the  novels  regarded  as  a  whole, 
185-191 ;  chronological  relation 
to  other  Enghsh  novelists,  192 
Austen-Leigh,  Mr,,  Jane  Austen's 


13 


194 


INDEX. 


biographer,  12  ;  quoted,  14,  15, 
18,  19,  25,  40,  183,  184 

B. 

Basingstoke,  15 

Bath,  16,  28-30,  105 

Blair,  Dr.,  Jane  Austen's  favourite 

preacher,  53 
Braboume,   Lord,  editor  of  Jane 

Austen's    letters,    12  ;    quoted, 

78,  134,  187 
Byron,  Lord,  22 

C. 
Chawton,  near  Winchester,  33 
Clergy,  of  Jane  Austen's  day,  54 
Cooper,  Dr.  (Jane  Austen's  uncle), 

16 
Cooper,  Edward  (Jane  Austen's 

cousin),  16 
Cooper,     Jane     (Jane     Austen's 

cousin),  16 
Country  life  as  depicted  by  Jane 

Austen,  56-59 
Cowper,  influence  of,  21 
Crabbe,  influence  of,  21,  60 

E. 

Egerton,  Mr.,  first  publishes  Jane 
Austen's  works,  33 

"  Emma,"  written,  33  ;  published, 
34  ;  dedicated  to  Prince  Regent, 
36  ;  quoted,  31,  47,  48,  61,  63  ; 
description  and  critique  of  plot 
and  characters,  1 18-139 


Frencli  Revolution  and  the  novels, 
45-46 

G. 

Gentry,  the,  supplied  most  of  the 


characters    of    Jane    Austen's 
QOvels,  60 

T. 

Inglis,  Sir  R.  H.,  quoted,  52 

J. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  influence  of,  22 

K. 

Knight,   Edward  (Jane  Austen's 

brother),  13,  33 
Knight,     Mr,,     adopts     Edward 

Austen,  13 


"Lady  Susan,"   discussed,  180- 

183 

Leigh,  Dr.  Theophilus  (Jane 
Austen's  great-uncle),  13 

Leiyh,  Rev.  Thomas  (Jane 
Austen's  grandfather),  13 

I^etters  of  Jane  Austen,  12  ; 
quoted,  16,  23,  32,  39,  40  ;  dis- 
cussed, 42-43 

IJoyd,  Miss,  33 

Lyme,  30,  31 

M. 

Macaulay,  Lord,  his  opinion  of 
Jane  Austen's  works,  35, 189-190 

Manners  of  her  time,  Jane  Austen 
and  the,  48-51 

"Mansfield  Park,"  written,  33; 
published,  34;  quoted,  31,  52; 
plot  and  principal  characters 
discussed,  140-158  ;  minor  cha- 
racters, 158-166 

Marines,  the,  47 

Marriages,  mercenary,  51-2. 

Martineau,  Miss,  admires  "Per- 
suasion," 167 


INDEX. 


195 


Mitford,    Miss,    admires     "  Per- 
suasion,'' 167 
Morality,  Jane  Austen's,  55 

N. 
Nature,  Jane  Austen  a  lover  of, 

44 

Navy,  the,  46,  164,  165-6 

Nobility,  the,  Jane  Austen's  treat- 
ment of,  62 

"  Northanger  Abbey,"  written, 
25 ;  its  publication,  25,  34  ; 
quoted,  55  ;  description  of  plot 
and  characters,  102-117 ;  its 
style,  186 

Novel,  a  perfect,  Jane  Austen's 
view  of,  55 


"Persuasion,''  quoted,  19;  writ- 
ten, 33  ;  published,  34  ;  dis- 
cussion of  the  plot  and  principal 
characters,  167-174  ;  the  minor 
characters,  174-179  ;  faults  of 
construction,  179-180 ;  its  style, 
186 

Poor,  the,  Jane  Austen  and,  60-62 

Portsmouth,  30-31 

"  Pride  and  Prejudice,"  written, 
24  ;  its  publication,  25,  34  ;  an 
accoimt  of  its  plot,  66-78  ;  and 
characters,  78-88 


Quarterly  Review  quoted,  18,  35 


Radcliffe,  Mrs.,  102-103 

Religion,  Jane  Austen  and,  52-53 

Richardson,  Samuel,  influence  of, 
21 

Romance,  absent  from  Jane  Aus- 
ten's works,  59 

S. 

Scott,  Sir  W.,  22  ;  quoted,  35 

"Sense  and  Sensibility,''  written, 
25  ;  published,  33,  34  ;  quoted, 
28-29,  64  ;  chief  characters  and 
plot  discussed,  89-95  \  minor 
characters,  95-101 

Sentimentality,  Jane  Austen  a  foe 
to,  44 

Southampton,  30-32 

Spectator,  The,  Jane  Austen's 
opinion  of,  22 

Stael,  Madame  de,  34-35 

.Steventon,  12-14,  28 


Tory,  Jane  Austen  a,  45-48 

W. 
''Watsons,    The,"    a    fragment, 

29  ;  discussed,  183-4 
Winchester,     39  ;    Jane    Austen 

buried  in  the  Cathedral,  41 
Women,  Jane  Austen's  views  of, 

50-52 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

BY 

JOHN    P.  ANDERSON 
(British  Museum). 


1 
I.    WOKKS. 

II.  Appendix— 

Ill,  Chronological 

Biography,  Giiticism,  etc. 

Works, 

Magazine  Articles. 

List 


OF 


I.  WORKS, 

Jane   Austen's   Works. 
London,  1882,  8vo, 


6   vols. 


Letters.  Edited,  with  an  intro- 
duction and  critical  remarks,  by 
Edward,  Lord  Brabourne.  2 
vols.     London,  1884,  8vo. 


Emma  :  a  novel.  3  vols.  Lon- 
don, 1816,  12mo. 

Another  edition.      {Standard 

Novels,  No.  25.)  London, 
1833,  8vo. 


Emma :     a      novel. 

Library,  vol.    xxv.) 

1849,  8vo. 
Another  edition. 


{Popular 
London, 


1857,  8vo. 
New  edition. 


Svo. 
Another 


London, 
London,  1870, 

edition.        London 

[1883],  8vo. 
Mansfield  Park  :  a  novel.    3  vols. 

London,  1814,  12mo. 
Another  edition.      {Standard 

Novels,     No.      27.)       London, 

1833,  8vo. 
Another   edition.       {Parlour 

Novelist,     vol.     iv.)        Belfast, 

1846,  Svo. 
Another   edition,       (Parlour 

Library,   vol.    Ix.)         London, 

1851,  Svo. 


11 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Mansfield  Park  :    a  novel.     Lon- 
don, 1857,  8vo. 

Another  edition.     [Taucltnitz 

Collection    of   British    Authors, 
vol.  883.)    Leipzig,  1867,  12mo. 

New  edition.     London,  1870, 

8vo. 

New  edition.     London,  1870, 

8vo. 

Part  of  the   "Select  library  of 
Fiction." 

Another  edition.     Illustrated 

by   A.    F.    Lydon.        London, 
Driffield  [printed,  1875],  8vo, 

Another    edition.        London 

[1877],  8vo, 

Part  of  "  The  Ruby  Series." 

-Another    edition.       London 


[1883],  8vo, 

Northanger  Abbey ;  and  Persua- 
sion. With  a  biographical 
notice  of  the  autlior.  4  vols. 
London,  1818,  12mo. 

Another  edition.     (Standard 

Novels,    No.    28.)         London, 
1833,  8vo. 
-Another   edition. 


(Parlour 
London, 

London, 
1857,  8vo. 

Part  of  the  "  Railway  Library." 
-New  edition.      2   pts.      Lon- 


Library,  vol.  xlvii.) 

1850,  8vo. 
Another    edition. 


don,  1870,  8vo. 
— Another  edition. 

don,  1870,  8vo. 
Another  edition. 


2  pts.    Lon- 
2  pts.  Lon- 


don [1877],  8vo. 

Part  of  "  The  Ruby  Series." 
Pride    and    Prejudice.       3    vols. 

London,  1813,  12nio. 
Second  edition,    3  vols.    Lon- 
don, 1813,  12mo. 
Another  edition.      (Standard 

Novels,  No.  30.)    London,  1833, 

8vo. 
Another    edition.        2    vols. 

London,  1844,  16mo. 


Pride  and  Prejudice.  2  vols.  Lon- 
don, 1846,  8vo. 

Another    edition.      London, 

1852,  8vo. 
-New  edition.     London,  1870, 


8vo. 


— Another      edition.      London 
[1883],  8vo. 
-Another    edition.      (CasselVs 


Red  Library.)     London  [1886], 

8vo. 
Sense  and    Sensibility,   a    novel. 

By  a  "Lady.     3  vols.     London, 

1811,  12mo. 
Another  edition.      (Standard 

Novels,     No.      23.)       London, 

1833,  8vo. 
Another     edition.      2     vols. 


London,  1844,  16mo. 
— Another     edition.      London, 
1852,  8vo. 

-Another  edition.     ( Tauchnitz 


Collection  of  British  Authors, 
vol.  735.)  Leipzig,  1864, 
12mo. 

-New  edition.     London,  1870, 


Svo. 

— New  edition.  [With  memoir 
of  Miss  Austen.]  Loudon, 
1870,  8vo. 

Part  of   the  "Select  Library  ol 
Fiction." 

— Another      edition.      London 


[1883],  Svo. 

— Another      edition.      London 
[1884],  Svo. 


II.  APPENDIX. 

Biography,  Criticism,  etc. 

Cone,  Helen  G.,  and  Gilder,  J.  L. 
— Pen  -  Portraits     of     Literary 
Women.      2  vols.     New  York 
[1888],  Svo. 
Jane  Austen,  voL  i.,  pp.  196-220. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Ill 


Elwood,    Mrs. — Memoirs    of   the 
literary  ladies  of  England,  etc. 
2  vols.     London,  1843,  8vo. 
Jane  Austen,  vol.  ii,  pp.  174-186. 
Encyclopedia  Britannica.     Ninth 
edition.    Edinburgh,  1875,  4to. 
Jane  Austen,  vol.  iii. 
Forsyth,    William. — The    Novels 
and  Novelists  of  the  Eitrhteenth 
Century,  etc.  London,  1871, 8vo. 
Jane  Austen,  pp.  328-337. 
Hale,    Sarah   Josepha. — Woman's 
Eecord  ;  or,  Sketches  of  all  Dis- 
tinguished Women,  etc.    Second 
edition.    New  York,  1855,  8vo. 
Jane  Austen,  pp.  184-194. 

Kavanngh,       Julia.     —     English 
Women  of  Letters,  etc.     2  vols. 
London,  1863,  8vo. 
Miss  Austen,  vol.  ii.,  pp.  180-236. 
Lang,  Andrew, — Letters  to  Dead 
Authors.     Loudon,  1886,  8vo. 
To  Jane  Austen,  pp.  75-85. 

Leigh,  J.  E.  Austen. — A  Memoir 
of  Jane  Austen,  by  her  nephew. 
London,  1870,  8vo. 

Second   edition,   to  which  is 

added  Lady  Susan  and  frag- 
ments of  two  other  unfinished 
tales  by  Miss  Austen.  London, 
1871,  8vo. 

Maiden,  Mrs.  Charles.  —  Jane 
Austen.  {Emiiwnt  Women 
Series.)     London,  1889,  8vo. 

Oliphant,  Mrs.  Margaret  0. — The 
Literary  History  of  England  in 
the  end  of  the  Eighteenth  and 
beginning  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century,  3  vols.  London,  1882, 
8vo, 
Jane  Austen,  vol.  iii.,  pp.  221-237. 

Stephen,  Leslie. — Dictiouary  of 
National  Biography.  Edited 
by  Leslie  Stephen.  Loudon, 
1885,  8vo. 

Jane  Austen,  by  Leslie  Stephen, 
vol.  ii.,  pp.  259,  260. 

Thackeray,      Anne     Isabella. — A 


Book  of  Sibyls.     Lon  don ,  1 883, 
8vo. 
Jane  Austen,  pp.  197-229. 

Tytler,  Sarah — i.e.,  Henrietta 
Keddie. — Jane  Austen  and  her 
Works.  With  a  portrait  on 
steel.     London  [1880],  8vo. 

Another     edition.       London 

[1884],  8vo. 

Whately,  Richard,  Archbishop  of 
Dublin.  —  Miscellaneous  Lec- 
tures and  Reviews.  London, 
1861,  8vo. 

Review  of  Northanger  Abbey  and 
Persuasion,  pp.  282-313 ;  appeared 
originally  in  the  Quarterly  Review, 
1821. 

Magazine  Articles. 

Austen,  Jane.  Edinburgh  Re- 
view, vol,  51,  1830,  pp.  448- 
450.  —  New  Monthly  Maga- 
zine, vol.  95,  1852,  pp.  17- 
23  ;  same  article,  Littell's 
Living  Age,  vol.  33,  pp  477- 
480.  — North  American  Review, 
by  J.  F.  Kirk,  vol.  77,  1853, 
pp.  201-203. — Eclectic  Magazine 
(from  the  AthenEeum),  vol.  37, 
1856,  pp.  197-200.— Eraser's 
Magazine,  vol.  61,  1860,  pp. 
30-35.— Atlantic  Monthly,  by 
A.  M.  Waterston,  vol.  11, 
1863,  pp.  235-240  ;  same  article, 
Littell's  Living  Age,  vol.  76, 
418  -  422.  —  Englishwoman's 
Domestic  Magazine,  vol.  2,  3rd 
Series,  1866,  pp.  237-240, 
278-282;  vol.  14,  3rd  Series, 
pp.  187-189  ;  vol.  24,  3rd 
Series,  pp.  267-271.  —  Saint 
Paul's,  vol.  5,  1870,  pp.  631- 
643. — Harper's  New  Monthly 
Magazine  (Illustrated),  by  S.  S. 
Conant,  vol.  41,  1870,  pp. 
225-233.— Fortnightly  Review, 
by  T.  E.  Kebbel,  vol.  7,  N.S., 
1870,  pp.    187-193.— Hours    at 


w 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Austen,  Jane, 

Home,  by  Anne  Maunint;,  vol. 
11,  1870.  pp  516-522.— Nation, 
by  Goldwin  Smith,  vol.  10, 
1870,  pp.  121-126.  —  North 
British  Review,  vol.  52,  1870, 
pp.  129-152, —Cornhill  Maga- 
zine, vol.  2-1,  1871,  pp.  1 '8-174; 
same  article,  Littell's  Living 
Age,  vol.  110,  pp.  643-653.— 
Temple  Bar,  vol,  64,  1882,  pp. 
350-365  ;  same  article,  Littell's 
Living  Age,  vol.  153,  pp.  43-52, 
and  Eclectic  Magazine,  vol.  35 
N.S.,  pp.  615-624. — Argosy,  by 
Alice  King,  vol.  34,  1882,  pp. 
187-192 — Dublin  Review,  vol. 
10,  3rd  Series,  1SS3,  pp.  103- 
129.  -Time,  by  W.  Robertson, 
Feb.  1889,  pp.  193-201. 

ami  Charlotte  Bronte.  Modern 

Review,  by  A,  Armitt,  vol,  3. 
1882,  pp.  384-396  ;  same  article, 
Littell's  Living  Age,  vol,  153, 
pp,  368-373. 
-and  George  Eliot.     National 


Review,  by  T.  E.  Kebbel,  vol. 
2,  1883,  pp.  259-273. 
— and    hur    Novels.         Dublin 
Review,  vol.    15,    N.S.,    1870, 
pp.  430-457. 
-a7id  Miss  Mitford       Black- 


wood's Edinburgh  Magazine, 
vol.  107,  1870,  pp.  290-313  ; 
same  article,  Littell's  Living 
Age,  vol.  105,  pp.  38-5">. — 
Quarterly  Review,  by  G.  F. 
Chorley,  vol.  128, 1870,  pp.  196- 
218  ;  same  article,  Littell's  Liv- 
ing Age,  vol.  104,  pp.  558-569, 
— and      !^tylc.  Macmillan's 

Magazine,  vol,  51,  1884,  pp. 
84-91  ;  same  article,  Littell's 
Living  Age,  vol,  164,  pp.  58-64. 
-at   Home.       Fortnightly    Re- 


view, by  T.  E.   Kebbel,  vol.  37 
N.S.,  1885,  pp.  262-270. 


Austen,  Jane. 

Early  Writinrjs  of.     Nation, 

by  E.  Quincy,  vol.  13,  1871, 
pp.  164,  165. 

Emma.      Quarterly  Review, 

by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  vol.  14, 
1815,  pp.  188-201. 

Hunting  for  Snakes  at  lAjme, 

Regis.  "Temple  Bar,  vol.  57, 
1879,  pp.  391-397  ;  same  article, 
Littell's  Living  Age,  vol.  143, 
pp.  633-637. 

Letters  of.      Spectator,  Nov. 

8,  1884,  pp.  1482-1483,— Satur- 
day Review,  vol.  58,  1884,  pp. 
637,  638.— Temple  Bar,  vol.  67, 
1S83,  pp.  285-287,— Academy, 
by  T,  W,  Lyster.  vol,  26,  1884, 
pp.  333-334.— Athenaeum,  Nov. 
8,  1884,  pp,  585-586. 

More  Views  of.     Gentleman's 

Magazine,  bv  G.  B.  Smith,  vol. 
258,  1885,  ))p.  26-45. 

Northangcr       Abbey,       and 

Fcrsuasion.  Quarterly  Review, 
by  Archbishop  Whateley,  vol, 
24,  1821,  pp.  352-376;  re- 
printed in  Miscellaneous  Lectures 
and  Memoirs,  1861, 

not    Shallow.      Temple   Bar, 

vol.  67,  1883,  pp,  270-284; 
same  article,  Littell's  Living 
Age,  vol,  156,  pp,  691-699. 

Novels.         Littell's 


Living 

Age,  vol.  45,  1855,  pp.  205-207. 
— Black  wood's  Edinburgh  Maga- 
zine, vol.  86,  1859,  pp.  99-113  ; 
same  article,  Littell's  Living 
Age,  vol.  62,  pp.  424-436.— 
Christian  Examiner,  by  L  M. 
Luyster,  vol.  74,  1863,  pp. 
400-421.  —  Chambers's  Journal, 
1870,  pp.  157-160.— Spectator, 
Dec.  16,  1882,  pp.  1609-1611. 
— Saturday  Review,  vol,  54, 
1882, 827-8  28,  —Literary  World, 
vol,  13,  1882,  pp.  130-131. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


III.  CHRONOLOGICAL  LIST  OF  AVORKS. 


Sense  and  Sensibility  .  1811 

Pride  and  Prejudice  .  1813 

Mansfield  Park       .  .  1814 

Emma         .  .  ■  1816 


Northanger      Abbey      and 

Persuasion  .  1818 

Lady  Susan,  etc.     .  .     1871 

(In  J.  E.  Austell  Leigh's  Memoir 
of  Jane  Austen.) 

Letters        .  .  .     1884 


Printed  by  Walter  Scott,  Felling,  Newcastleon-Tyni. 


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LIFE. 

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THE  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  WAR. 

ANNA     KARfiNINA.     (2  Vols.) 

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